


That's Just The Way It Is, Some Things Will Never Change

by TheWife



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AUd from season 9, Age Regression/De-Aging, Brief mentions of other characters - Freeform, Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Episode references, Explicit Language, First Kiss, Gen, M/M, Off-screen Character Death, Past Character Death, Pre-Slash, Some spoilers from season 8 up, Sort of AU, Witches, canon divergence from season 8, hand-wavey time jumps, implied PTSD, inconsistent time jumps, references to past abuse, references to past prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-25 15:30:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 47,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWife/pseuds/TheWife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is transformed (by witches, of course) into Tween-Dean, and he doesn't know who these two guys are or what's going on. As he rapidly ages, Sam discovers more about what life was like for Dean as Sam's older brother/pseudo-father. Castiel learns to loosen up a bit. And Dean learns that it's okay to be himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We're Beaten and Blown By the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fan-fiction I've ever written. Like, ever, let alone in this particular fandom or for this particular site. So please be gentle. I have a tendency to abuse the use of commas. And I'm the sole editor, so there are sure to be mistakes.
> 
> Title taken from "The Way It Is" by Bruce Hornsby. Chapter titles will be taken from random pop-culture references.
> 
> Please note tags for any potential trigger warnings. All references are off-screen and not graphic.
> 
> Canon divergence past season 8, some spoilers up until then, though this focuses primarily on the distant past and events leading up to season 8, with the focus on character development not particular canonical events. This is set in some nebulous future, with the assumption that things will always eventually go back to the regular sort of status quo, with the three core characters always remaining.

Dean was already pulling his knife from the sheath at his ankle when he recognized the rhythm of the shaking to his shoulder. Not even opening his eyes, he slid the knife back into place and grumbled.

“Dammit, Sammy, you’d better have a good reason for waking me up.”

“At least his brain’s still in one piece.”

Dean was pulling the knife back out in the next instant, now fully awake. He didn’t recognize that voice, and that meant danger.

“Sammy! Where are you!” Dean yelled, rolling away and taking a defensive stance so quickly that the _very_ large man didn’t have time to react. “Sammy!”

“Dean, it’s me,” the large man, said, which made no sense at all, because Dean would certainly remember a god damned _giant_.

“I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you’d better tell me what you’ve done with Sammy before I kill you! I can and will make it hurt!” From any other person that threat may have seemed laughable, but Dean was capable and could be frightening no matter what.

“He doesn't recognize you,” came the rough voice of the second man. He wasn’t physically as large as his companion, and his voice had a very calming tone, but he was… intense. Even in a rumpled suit and a trench coat he radiated power.

“I can see that Cas,” the first man muttered, blowing long strands of hair out of his face before turning toward Dean with his hands up, palms forward, in front of him. “Dean, calm down. Let me explain.”

“How the hell do you know my name?” Dean yelled again, backing up even further. The clearing they were in was surrounded on three sides by trees and a cabin on the fourth. He began backing toward the cabin, figuring that if these perverts had taken Sammy, he was probably inside.

“Dean, I need you to calm down. I know you don’t recognize me, but it’s me. I’m Sammy.” The man winced a little at the name, as if it was painful to say.

“Bullshit! I don’t know what freak show you’re putting on, but I’m not interested, and if you’ve laid a hand on my brother I’ll cut your dick off and shove it so far up your ass you’ll choke on it!”

“This is ineffective,” the man in the trench coat said, before he _disappeared_.

“Where the fuck did he—“ Dean didn’t get the rest of the words out because he suddenly felt a rush of air and a touch to his head before the world went black.

***

This time when Dean became aware of his surroundings, he couldn’t reach for his knife. First, because he could tell immediately that his knife was no longer there. In fact, his sheath was gone, along with his shoes. Second, because he was bound to a bed. At least he was still dressed. Refusing to let panic set in, he tried to regulate his breathing, to do what his dad had taught him: evaluate the situation and figure out how to escape. Which he couldn’t do until he found Sammy. His stomach twisted at the thought of Sammy tied to a bed. He’d be scared, Dean knew, and the weight of familiar shame washed over him as he realized that he had failed in yet another way to protect his brother. He clenched his jaw, resolutely vowing to torture anyone who had frightened or hurt Sammy.

“He's awake,” the rough voice said, and Dean opened his eyes. If they knew he was aware he wasn’t going to risk missing an opportunity.

The giant man, the man who claimed to be _Sammy_ , was standing a good 6 feet away from the foot of the bed in what appeared to be a cheap motel room, like any of the hundreds Dean had seen and stayed at in his life. The sleeves of his flannel shirt were rolled up over massive forearms, but Dean could tell that he was trying to stand in a non-threatening position, his hands at his sides, palms facing out.

“Dean, I want to untie you now. Can I do that without you trying to run off?” Not-Sammy was speaking quietly and was standing very still. When Dean didn’t respond, Not-Sammy looked toward the man standing next to him.

“Where the fuck is Sammy?” Dean all but growled, low in his throat. “Let me see him first.”

“Dean.”

There was little inflection in the rough voice but somehow Dean felt compelled to look at him. The man stared very intently at Dean, with almost inhumanly blue eyes under mussed dark hair, and Dean felt a shudder go up his spine. “We have not taken your brother. We only want to help you. I promise that no harm will come to you and that we will help you to understand the situation.”

Dean swallowed roughly. He didn’t know why he believed the man. But he did. He felt himself nod in response.

Not-Sammy made a motion forward and Dean’s body tensed involuntarily. The dark haired man put a hand out. Not-Sammy stopped. The dark haired man slowly approached Dean’s feet before reaching out to untie his legs. Dean briefly entertained the thought of kicking him as his feet came free. The man looked at him with a slight frown, as if he could tell what Dean was thinking and was about to admonish him for it. The man’s touch was gentle but clinical, not lingering in the way that Dean had learned to recognize over the years. When his legs were untied, the man moved forward, reaching for Dean’s arms. The cloth wasn’t tight and the knots didn’t hurt, but as soon as his wrists were free Dean rubbed at them and pushed himself upright against the headboard.

The dark haired man stared at Dean for a few moments, not saying anything, just looking at him as if he were trying to read Dean’s mind. Dean shivered a little with the thought that maybe he could, then brushed away the fanciful thoughts.

“I'm Castiel,” the man said, gently. “Can you tell me the last thing you remember?”

Dean didn’t really know why he felt like answering. He was untied. He should be trying to get free. But the man in front of him radiated peace right now, and for some reason Dean didn’t feel afraid. He scrunched up his face a bit, trying to think. “I… I’m not sure. Everything seems… far away. Kind of fuzzy.” His glance flicked over to Not-Sammy. “I remember putting Sammy to bed. I must have fallen asleep.” Dean paused, trying to swallow down the lump that caught in his throat. “Where’s Sammy, man? I’ve gotta find him. He’ll be scared.”

The dark haired man, Castiel, glanced back at Not-Sammy before turning grave eyes back to Dean. “Before I answer that, I have just one more question. How old are you, Dean?”

“Twelve.”

***

Not-Sammy had a look of surprise on his face, but Castiel just nodded. “Your brother is safe, Dean. He has not been hurt or injured. But you have. You were hunting a coven of witches and a spell was placed on you.”

Dean shook his head. “Nuh-uh, man, I don’t hunt yet. My job’s to take care of Sammy.”

Not-Sammy took two steps forward. “That _was_ your job, Dean. When you were twelve. You’re right. But now you and, uh, Sammy, hunt.”

Contrary to how Sammy teases him, Dean is not slow, stupid, or dumb. He can talk properly when he needs to, and he’s a whiz with anything mechanical. Not to mention he can con or charm just about anyone he meets. So he picked up on Not-Sammy’s words right away.

“Whadda ya mean, ‘when I was twelve’? What the fuck are you talking about?” Dean’s tone was getting more and more aggressive, but he couldn’t seem to help the anger or frustration or something, whatever it was, from welling up within him whenever he looked over at the man who claimed to be his brother.

Castiel interrupted by placing his hand on Dean’s arm. “Dean, we are as we were. It's you who has changed. Until two hours ago, you were a grown man. This,” and at that, he gestured to Not-Sammy, “is your brother, Sam.”

Okay, so maybe, just maybe, Dean can be forgiven for freaking out a little.

***

Sam blocked the door just in time and pulled Dean up into a bear hug of sorts. Dean was kicking and elbowing and he was doing a damn fine job of it. But Sam was a _lot_ bigger than him and he’d spent enough years fighting with Dean to know how to block him.

“Dean, please don’t do this. We’re going to fix this, but you’ve got to calm down.” Sam spoke as calmly as he could, his voice punctuated with only an occasional grunt as one of Dean’s limbs connected to some part of his body. God, it hurt to see Dean so scared. He looked to Cas pleadingly, and Cas, bless him, was already walking toward them.

Castiel reached out and took Dean’s face gently in his hands. Dean wasn’t sure why he stopped struggling, but the man’s touch was so soothing that the urge to fight left him. Suddenly images flashed in his mind, like a movie being projected directly into his brain. He could see the cabin from the woods and a group of people inside with what he recognized as hex bags on an altar. The images changed. Now he was watching Not-Sammy-who-might-be-Sammy fighting off one of the witches. The next image was of one of the witches reaching out, chanting something under her breath, and the scene changed to show a man, who looked vaguely familiar and wearing the same kind of clothes that Dean was wearing now, jump in front of Not-Sammy-who-is-probably-Sammy. The man dropped to the ground and began shaking. And shrinking. When the shaking and shrinking stopped, Dean could see himself lying in the place of the man, in clothes that appeared to have shrunk with him.

As suddenly as the images began, they stopped, and Castiel was standing in front of him, hands still touching his face, but looking intently into his eyes. Dean had stopped struggling.

“Now do you understand?” Castiel asked softly. Dean nodded, still hesitant to accept what he’d seen but feeling an urge in him to believe Castiel, to trust what he was saying.

“Sammy?” Dean asked quietly, without looking away from Castiel’s eyes.

“Yeah, Dean?”

“I can’t believe you got so fucking big.”


	2. Forever Younger, Growing Older Just the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam learns that he'll always be Dean's little brother and Castiel is a good babysitter. There are feathers involved.

“If he’s Sammy, who the hell are you?” Dean asked Castiel when Not-Sammy-who-apparently- _is_ -Sammy finally put him down.

“My name is Castiel.”

“Yeah, I get that, but _what_ are you? I don’t know any humans who can zap movies into my head, but Godzilla over there,” Dean said with a tilt of his head in Gigantically-huge-maybe-Sammy’s direction, which Gigantically-huge-maybe-Sammy chooses to ignore, “isn’t trying to kill you, so I figure there’s gotta be a reason why.”

Castiel’s face took on a serious expression, his voice deepened almost impossibly, and his head tilted downward in an almost nod. “I am an Angel of the Lord.”

“Yeah, right, pull the other one. No such thing as angels.”

“Dean, he’s an angel,” Okay-yeah-so-he’s-probably-Sammy said, absently rubbing at his shoulder. Dean smirked at that. Sammy may have become a freakin’ yeti, but Dean could still get in some good hits.

Looking away from his handiwork, Dean looked Castiel up and down. “Kinda small for an Angel, aren’t you?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. _Rolled his eyes_. That was a good point, actually. “Dude’s supposed to be an angel and he rolls his eyes.”

Sam huffed out a laugh. “He learned that from you.” Sam took a step towards Dean, but Dean tensed up again. Sam wasn’t sure what was going on with him, but he was clearly making kid-Dean uncomfortable. He figured giving him some space might help, and he needed to make a few calls anyway, hopefully to someone who might have some answers. He met Castiel’s eyes and tried to convey the plan. It probably didn’t translate well via eyebrow and mouth twitch-speak, but Cas was smart, so Sam knew he’d figure it out. “Listen, are you hungry? I can grab you a burger or something.”

Dean was going to pursue the whole “angel” angle (ha), but the thought of a burger sounded so phenomenal that he wasn’t gonna turn that down. “Hell yeah. A bacon cheeseburger if you can. And don’t forget the –“

“Pie, yeah, I know.” Definitely Sammy. “Stay here. I’ll be back.” Sam looked pointedly at Castiel, who nodded once, and grabbed his jacket on the way out the door.

“So, you’re really an angel?” Dean asked when the door closed.

“Yes.”

“I thought angels were supposed to have wings and a halo and shit.”

“My wings are on a different plane of existence while I’m in my vessel. I can manifest them when necessary.”

“Vessel? Whoa, are you possessing someone?” Dean took a step back, looking around a little frantically for, Castiel could only assume, salt or holy water or a silver knife, or whatever it was that would injure whatever it was that 12-year-old Dean thought Castiel was.

Castiel smiled at that. Well, his eyes smiled and his mouth sort of firmed. “You are always you, Dean, in every incarnation.” A response that was probably a bit enigmatic, but Castiel couldn’t help it. “You said much the same thing when we first met. I am not possessing anyone. This vessel belonged to a man who willingly gave of himself to my Father. He has since moved on and this vessel is now my own, however it does not reflect my true form.”

Dean visibly relaxed at that. “So what’s your true form then?”

Castiel’s not-quite-a-smile vanished and he said, somewhat sadly, “You cannot look upon it. It would burn your eyes from your head.”

“Oh.” Dean kind of shuffled his feet a little awkwardly, not sure what to say to the only person who currently made him feel a little secure, but could also blind him simply by existing.

Castiel regretted seeing the tinge of disappointment and fear in Dean’s eyes so he said, perhaps somewhat unwisely, “I can, however, show you my wings if you would like?” At the smile that broke out over Dean’s so much younger face, Castiel felt as if his suggestion, no matter how unusual, was the right choice.

“Yeah, that’d be awesome!”

***

When Sam came back from the diner, Dean was laughing, genuinely laughing, and even Castiel had a quirk to his lips that could definitely be called a grin. And around the room, on the bed and the floor and even in Dean’s hair, were feathers, in white, silver, and black, in several different sizes.

“That was _awesome_!” Dean was practically gasping for breath.

“Your reaction this time is much more pleasant than what happened the first time. The first time you shot and stabbed me.” Castiel’s expression was… fond. Sam couldn’t help his smile.

“Sorry about that, man. But I’m sure I had a good reason.”

Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “It's quite alright, Dean.”

Sam cleared his throat then, bringing the bag of food to the table. “Hey, guys. Looks like you’ve been having some fun.”

Dean’s face closed off almost instantly. Not in a mean or aggressive way, but as if he just suddenly lost all expression and emotion. Stoic, Sam supposed was the word for it.

“Anyone give you any hassle?” Dean asked, very seriously, almost sternly.

“Uh, no. Why would they?” Sam was trying not to smile wider at the expression on Dean’s face. It was all at once so familiar but incredibly disconcerting.

“They don’t usually bag up a grab-n-run, Sa—“ Dean caught himself, as if he was about to admonish Sam, stopping short of bringing himself to call this stranger by his brother’s name.

“I didn’t steal it Dean. I bought it.” His smile fell completely at that.

“Dad isn’t gonna be gone too long this time, then. When’s he coming back?”

It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. Literally, it was as if Sam’s ears had popped. He just stood there, kind of gaping at little-kid-Dean, who was judging the situation in a rational and conscientious manner – for a kid. But kind of missing the big picture.

“Uh… no. Dad doesn’t hunt with us,” Sam finally said. He shot a look to Castiel, almost pleading, but the angel just blinked at him, either not knowing how to respond or not wanting to. Sam was never certain with him.

Dean kind of puckered his lips, thinking on that before coming to what was probably an obvious realization for a kid, but still missing the big picture as far as Sam was concerned. “Oh. I guess we’re all grown up now, huh? Doin’ this on our own. That’s kinda cool.”

Sam and Cas shared a brief look at that, reaching the same understanding then that the topic of John Winchester was probably better left there. “Yeah, cool.” Sam finally said.

But… Dean = not stupid, remember? “Dad’s dead.” The words were soft, but firm and definitely more of a statement than a question. 

“I'm sorry, Dean, but yes, your father passed on some time ago,” Cas said with another shoulder touch, this time accompanied with a squeeze.

Dean’s face firmed up again. Sam could almost see him donning the mantle of responsibility, accepting the truth as it was and planning for his next steps. And it made Sam so sad. The fact that Sam was twice his age (and almost twice his size), didn’t even register in Dean’s mind, Sam could tell, as Dean glanced over at him with a newfound resolution.

“Hey, it happens,” Dean said, whether to reassure Sam or himself, Sam wasn’t sure. “Hunters don’t live long.”

“As you say,” Cas responded with a nod. “You should eat now.”

***

It took Sam about five minutes to figure out why Dean wasn’t eating. It was the way that Dean looked at Sam out of the corner of his eye that triggered the memory. Dean was waiting for Sam to eat first. Waiting to see if Sam was going to want more when he finished… so that Dean could give his food to Sam if it came down to it. With that realization, Sam Winchester, who had faced down countless monsters, faced Hell and Lucifer himself, actually felt like he was going to cry. He remembered someone asking once if Dean knew what it was like to go hungry, like he hadn’t eaten in days. Without hesitation, Dean had answered yes. Sam hadn’t thought too much about it at the time. But now, looking at this boy, his _older brother_ , he understood. This Dean, this boy who was so young and yet so old all at once, had gone hungry. For _days_. For him. Sam put down his burger.

“You know what, I’m not really hungry. I’m going to go do some research.” He glanced over to Dean as he stood, relieved to see him pick up his burger and start eating. Besides, he really did have research to do.

Which, of course, was easier said than done. There weren’t exactly a bunch of easily accessible resources about age-reversal spells cast by angry witches. If he wasn’t being directed to a half-assed wiki page, he was being taken to some Ghostfacers-type forum where people were speculating on witchcraft that they clearly didn’t understand. There were other resources out there, useful and helpful ones, but that took time. With the extra hands he'd called on board, between a couple of hunters and a college professor who thought he was helping the FBI, hopefully it wouldn't be too much longer. By the time Dean had finished all four burgers and two slices of pie, Sam had made relatively little headway. He finally pushed his laptop away and rubbed at his eyes.

Dean and Cas were sitting on the other bed watching TV, some telenovela. It looked like Dean was explaining what was going on, which was a feat unto itself because a) Dean didn’t really know Spanish, and 2) how could he know what was happening in a current show?

“Are you getting back some of your memory?” Sam asked, and Dean turned to him with that raised eyebrow that he’d apparently known how to do his entire life.

“Uh, no. Why?”

“How can you _possibly_ know what’s going on in the show? Is it a rerun?”

Dean rolled his eyes, exactly as Castiel had earlier. “It’s a _soap opera_ , Sammy. It doesn’t take much brain power to figure out what’s going on.” Then, with a smirk, Dean added, “I bet even you could manage.” It seemed habit for him to poke a little fun at his “baby” brother, and Sam was okay with it. But as soon as the words were out of Dean’s mouth, his expression closed off again and he quickly turned to Castiel to gauge his response. Cas was focused on the TV and didn't appear to be paying any attention to what else was happening in the room.

Sam’s heart gave a lurch at that. He didn’t know why Dean seemed so unsure around him, but his gut was telling him that the answer couldn’t be good. So he plastered a smile on his face, as natural as possible. “Probably not. I don’t think I have your knack for chick-flicks in foreign languages.” Which earned him a look of surprise and a hint of a smile from Dean, so Sam figured he’d said something right for once in this mess.

“I call first shower,” Sam said over his shoulder, heading into the bathroom.

“If you use up the hot water, I’ll prank your ass,” Dean answered back more easily, harkening back to their childhoods and, if not better times, pleasant enough memories.

***

By the time Dean had claimed the second shower (and was wearing his own shirt and boxer-briefs with a rolled-down waist as pajamas) it was nearing midnight. Sam was ready to hit the sack, but didn’t want to crash before Dean did. It took him maybe another 10 minutes to figure out that Dean was doing the same thing. He took a deep breath, trying not to let the emotions of countless nights wash over him, of Dean tucking him in and staying up until Sam was asleep. And here Dean was, exhausted and barely keeping his eyes open. Sam’d pulled more than his share of all-nighters in college, but teenaged Dean was, without even thinking about it, waiting for him to fall asleep first.

“So, uh, I’m going to go to sleep now, if you two are ready?” Sam nodded at Dean and Cas where they were now watching what Dean swore was the best show he’d ever seen in his life – something on the Food Network involving geoducks, which sounded absolutely disgusting.

“Oh, yeah, man, that’s probably a good idea,” Dean said quickly, confirming that he was eager to get some sleep himself. Without a word, Cas stood and repositioned himself in the chair next to Dean’s bed. “Where are you gonna sleep?” Dean flicked his eyes to Castiel and back to the TV several times.

“I don't require sleep. I'll stay here and watch over you.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s not creepy,” Dean muttered under his breath. Sam huffed out a laugh. Some things really didn’t change. Dean didn’t argue, though, so Sam turned off the TV and the lamp.

“Goodnight, Sammy,” Dean whispered into the dark. “Yell for me if you need anything.” It was familiar and heart-wrenching and endearing.

“You, too, Dean. Cas and I will be right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the song Golden Days by Panic! At the Disco (thanks emo teenage daughter!)


	3. Doubt is a Pain Too Lonely to Know That Faith is His Twin Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growth is always painful. Sometimes literally. And the expectations we can never meet are our own. In which Dean doesn't learn that he's better than he thought, but it's not for lack of trying on Castiel's part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from a quote by Khalil Gibran

There are two things that every Winchester learns early on with regards to sleep. 1) Get it when you can, where you can. A Winchester can fall asleep just about anywhere under just about any conditions. This has served the boys well more times than they can remember. 2) Know your sounds. When you share close quarters, like small motel rooms or a car, with at least one other person for most of your life, you need to be able to sleep through most anything. But when you’ve trained as a hunter, you also need to wake up at the first hint of danger. So you learn what noises indicate danger and what noises are simply your traumatized brother coping with dreams of Hell.

It had taken Dean over half an hour to fall asleep after Sam turned out the lights. And that only after Sam had spent 20 minutes pretending to be asleep himself. Sam finally went under around one o’clock. It was now after 4. And Dean was screaming. The first whimper had Sam sitting up in bed, and the scream had him across the room, kneeling down by Dean’s bed by the time he realized what was happening.

Castiel was gripping Dean’s hand and whispering to him. Dean didn’t appear to be responding.

“What’s wrong with him?” Sam shouted over the cries.

Castiel’s face drew down in almost a frown. “I believe he is… growing.” 

Now that he looked closer, Sam could see that Dean had changed. His face had elongated, losing some of the chubbiness he’d had at 12. “Is there anything we can do?” Sam yelled again, though Dean’s voice was growing hoarse.

Cas didn’t answer him immediately. Instead, in a very un-Cas-like act, he climbed onto the bed and pulled Dean toward him, hugging him to his chest, muffling the noise.

“I’ve tried healing him,” Castiel said, over the now much quieter cries, “but it appears that this pain is caused by his body’s natural functions, so essentially there's nothing to heal. Growing is generally a slow process and even then it can cause discomfort. To have such drastic changes happen in such a short period of time must be excruciating.”

Sam refrained from pointing out that Castiel was stating the obvious. Instead he placed his hand on Dean’s back, rubbing gently in small circles. Between Cas holding him and Sam’s touches, Dean seemed to calm. Either that or he simply couldn’t scream any more. Sam wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, both of them trying to soothe Dean’s distress. Eventually Dean’s cries died down. By that point Sam’s head was resting on the bed, and he had nearly fallen asleep.

“Sam, you should go rest now. I believe that we’ve reached a plateau, and I will watch over Dean.”

With another small rub to Dean’s back, Sam nodded and went back to his own bed, feeling more helpless than he had in a very long time.

***

It was mostly a testament to Castiel’s place in their lives that Sam was actually able to sleep after that. It was also a testament to Castiel’s successful assimilation of certain aspects of human behavior that allowed him to understand that Dean would probably feel uncomfortable waking up in his arms. While Castiel didn’t quite understand _why_ Dean would be embarrassed to seek comfort, he knew that he would. With that in mind, when he noticed the slight changes in Dean’s breathing patterns and eye movements that indicated he would awaken soon, he gently laid the boy’s head on the pillow and moved quietly back to the chair to resume watching over him.

It was less than 10 more minutes before Dean reached full consciousness. Given how often Dean berated him for his “creepy staring,” Castiel had become quite adept at knowing when to at the very least avert his eyes. He did so then. Dean sat up in the bed and rubbed at his eyes with his fists.

“God, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck,” Dean said through a hoarse and strained voice. A deeper voice than he’d had the day before. He dropped his hands and turned toward Sam. It appeared as if he was ascertaining Sam’s location and status. He then turned to Castiel, with nearly the same appraising gaze. “You been sittin’ here all night?”

“Yes.” The look of displeasure that Dean made at that indicated to Castiel that he had once again inadvertently said something inappropriate or upsetting. “How old are you today?”

“What the hell is my life that a question like that makes sense?” Dean shook his head. “I’m 15.”

“Am I to assume that you remember what happened yesterday?”

Dean looked away, back toward Sam and then to the wall. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember. Sammy upset?”

“Why would Sam be upset?”

The expression on Dean’s face appeared to be one of hesitation or… perhaps regret. “I wasn’t exactly nice to him. I don’t know how to act with him, you know? I know how to be his big brother, that’s it. But he’s pretty damn big himself now. He doesn’t exactly need me to take care of him.”

“You have always taken care of Sam. That's not likely to change, whatever your physical size or age may be. It seems unlikely that he would expect anything else of you.”

“Is he… you know… okay? Like, did I do all right looking out for him?”

Castiel paused then. This was the type of question that seemed fairly straightforward at first but clearly had deeper levels of meaning. “If I’m to assume you mean is he a good person?” Here Castiel hesitated. He had referred to Sam as an abomination in the past, and at the time he believed it was true. Not so much by Sam’s actions, but by the nature of his existence. But then Castiel considered the choices Sam had made in the intervening years. The sacrifices he had made. Yes, he’d made mistakes, but Castiel was hardly without sin to cast the first stone. “Yes, Dean. You did very well.” And then, because it was the truth, at least so far as Castiel saw it, he added, “he would not be half the man he is without you and the sacrifices you’ve made for him.”

Dean sniffed a bit at that. At first Castiel thought it might be a sign of tears, but then changed his mind. It seemed more like a sound of disbelief. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Dean had always undervalued himself.

“It’s kinda funny,” Dean began then paused. Castiel waited. He’s patient. “I don’t normally trust people. At all. Why do I trust you?”

Castiel waited a few moments to see if there was more to that question. He hadn’t considered it strange that Dean would trust him. Once Castiel had moved beyond blindly obeying Heaven’s dictates, he and Dean had forged a fairly strong friendship, even in the face of Castiel’s poor choices. Trust was not always automatically granted to him, but it was granted more often than not. So he gave the question due consideration, thinking on the idea while Dean glanced toward him then away periodically.

“For reasons that I would prefer not to delve into right now, I have seen your soul. I have held your essence” (and at this, Dean made a face that Castiel didn’t understand). “A connection like that leaves a…” Castiel hesitated over his choice of word. “A scar, if you will. Not of the body, but of the spirit. The witches have changed your body, and perhaps your mind, but they can't change your soul. You are aware of the connection between us on a level that they could not alter.”

“So, what? I’m like your soul mate or something?” Dean looked skeptical and confused and interested all at once. It was an endearing look.

“Something like that, yes. It's a… unique bond.”

“What’s the deal with you, Castiel?” Dean said the word like he was testing it out. “That’s a mouthful.”

“You most often refer to me as ‘Cas’. It's a nickname you gave to me shortly after we met. You may use it instead, if you would prefer.”

“Cas, huh? Cas. Yeah, that sounds better. Why are you hanging around with us, Cas?”

Castiel again paused before answering. He wasn’t always sure what level of response Dean was looking for. “You and Sam. You are my friends. We've been through much together.”

“Enough to keep an angel in a dingy motel room?” Dean seemed skeptical.

“We have saved the world.”

Castiel’s simple answer seemed to stun Dean. “The world, huh? The whole world? How’d we do that?”

Castiel wasn’t sure how to answer such a question succinctly. It was too broad and too vague and required too much explanation. Besides, Dean would know the answers to his questions within days if his rapid overnight growth was an indication of the spell’s progression. “It's a very long story. The summation of which is that you and your brother averted the apocalypse and saved the world from destruction.”

Dean let out a low whistle. Castiel had heard that type of whistle used in movies and on television to denote surprise. He wasn’t sure if this meant that Dean didn’t believe him. “It's true. Your role was preordained for millennia to bring about the end of the world.”

“Fucking Christ, man, you mean, like, I’m supposed to _destroy the planet_?” Dean’s expression was one of true horror and Castiel realized his mistake almost immediately.

“It wasn't your fault, Dean. There have been prophesies from the beginning of time. Besides, you did not bring forth the end of days. I believe you once said that you were ‘ _flipping God the bird, shitting on the angel parade, and saying a big fuck you to fate._ ’ Fate was offended at first until I explained that you were not actually referring to her or her sisters.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, okay, that sounds like something I’d say.” A pause again. Castiel could sense that this question was an important one. “So I didn’t fuck up? I… I did okay?”

Castiel reached forward and touched Dean’s shoulder, the shoulder that had once held Castiel’s mark until he’d (perhaps foolishly, he often thought) healed the wound, believing it to be what Dean would want. “No, Dean, you did not ‘fuck up.’ And you did more than ‘okay.’ You saved the world and countless lives. You did very, very well.”

And teenaged Dean, who clearly wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as he was as an adult, actually blushed. Castiel made note of this. At some point, when adult-Dean was next teasing him for his awkward human behavior, Castiel would remind him of this. He thought that maybe Dean would appreciate the humor.


	4. Together We Fill Gaps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An awkward trip to the mall, stolen free-samples, bad-ass Cas, and movie night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no canonical reason to believe that Dean was molested. But I do have experience with neglected children (former social worker here). Dean and Sam were left alone so much, with Dean, especially, in need of validation, affection, and approval from a paternal figure, that he would be, sadly, easy prey for a person looking for a victim (especially in motels!). I'd like to think that, when John found out, he killed whoever hurt Dean, though I'm not sure Dean would ever have told him, and it may have been up to John to figure out that something was wrong. It also seems a more likely explanation than "John's off hunting a demon" for why they would go to Bobby's and Pastor Jim's LATER, when they didn't go early on.
> 
> The casting on the show is very well done, but in my mind's eye Dean more resembles a young Jensen Ackles than the actors who play his younger self in the show. He was a very, very PRETTY young man. Heck, he's still pretty, but the scruff cuts that in a more stereotypically masculine way. "Twink" is a fair assessment of his looks as a young adult.
> 
> Title taken from this line: "I dunno, she's got gaps, I got gaps, together we fill gaps." From the movie mentioned in this chapter.

Dean was bored. Bored, bored, bored. And a bored Dean was a dangerous thing. He could kind of excuse Cas’s ignorance in this, since he only knew grown-up Dean, and grown-up Dean apparently had a longer attention span and a lot more patience. But Sammy should have known better. Sammy _did_ know better, actually, but he was a bit preoccupied with trying to figure out how to help 15-year-old Dean get back to being grown-up Dean. Which Cas was in favor of, but also saw as “an unnecessary expenditure of time and effort, given that Dean appears to be re-aging at a reasonable, though painful rate.” But Sammy was determined.

This left Dean mostly to his own devices while Sam researched at the library and local university, and spent a large amount of time on the phone. True, Cas was hanging out with him, but Cas had a very poor understanding of appropriate boundaries on his own from all Dean could tell, and even less of an idea of what were appropriate boundaries for a teenager. Especially for a teenager who knows that he’s going to be an adult (again) _very_ soon and isn’t going to have to face a whole lot of consequences. Not that Dean had a whole hell of a lot of “normal” boundaries in general. The beauty of such a transient lifestyle was that he always knew he could get away from any problems he caused. At least eventually.

So a bored Dean with too much time on his hands and no real fear of consequences was what poor Cas was left to work with. Can you really blame him for taking advantage of the situation?

“C’mon, Cas, I’ve gotta get out of this room. I feel like my skin’s crawling.”

Cas just looks at him for a bit before appearing to come to a decision.“I’m not sure what’s nearby. Perhaps a park?”

“I’m not 5, Cas. You can’t tell me that I just sit around motel rooms all day normally. What do we do on our down time?”

“I’m not taking you to a bar, Dean.” And then, when Dean opened his mouth immediately, “or a brothel.”

“Holy shit, dude, that’s what we do? Get drunk and get hookers? You’re cooler than you look!”

Cas looked down at himself. “I don’t understand your preoccupation with the appearance of my vessel.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Hey! That’s a good point, though. I need some clothes, dude. The ones that shrunk with me are way too small now, and all the adult-me clothes are too big. I sure as hell can’t wear any of Sammy’s. So let’s go to the mall.”

Dean could tell that Cas wanted to say no. But it’s not like Dean didn’t have a point. That’s how Dean found himself, in shoes a bit too big for his feet, pants rolled up around his ankles and cinched tightly with his belt, and a shirt that he was swimming in, being “zapped” (and holy shit, that was cool!) to the local mall with a wallet full of credit cards that he didn’t have to pay for, with a man in a trench coat. In retrospect, he should have known this wouldn’t end well. In fairness, though, fifteen year olds aren’t known for considering the consequences of their actions.

***

Malls hadn’t changed much since Dean was 15 the first time. But what’s _in_ them certainly had. Adult Dean may have considered MP3 players “douchey” but _this_ Dean thought they were cool as hell. He’d probably have run into every cell phone store, too, if he didn’t already have one. Dean had a fairly well-hidden practical side and he could see how a cell phone would have revolutionized his childhood. That practical side also carried over into clothes. Anyone who interacts with Dean knows that he has a particular style, but he couldn’t care less about brands or price. So when he sees the “sale” sign in the window of a store that has jeans and t-shirts and some flannel, he’s good to go, Cas trailing behind looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Twenty minutes later, Dean was “properly” attired and felt a lot better (especially in the underwear department, if you know what he means). And, in anticipation of another “growth spurt,” he’d picked up some clothes a size or two larger. The cashier even let him pay for it himself without acting like he was committing a federal crime. Which he may have been, come to think of it, but whatever. 

He wheedled and cajoled Cas into going to the food court for something to eat. He sent Cas out to secure a table and headed to the nearest grease trap. Dean would realize later that there were a lot of “probably should haves” in the trip, but what happened after that was such a fairly commonplace thing in young-Dean’s life that he didn’t think to warn anyone. Specifically that he drew a relatively decent amount of attention wherever he went, some pleasant, some not-so-pleasant. Dean was aware that he was good looking. He hadn’t really had that awkward teen phase that most people did, at least not yet. Despite his poor eating habits (or maybe because of them, who knew?), his skin was clear and his face was interesting in a very pretty sort of way. He wasn’t as tall as he’d eventually be, but he was taller than average, and leanly muscled. In other words, Dean was hot and he knew it.

Waiting in line to order food saw a conversation with a girl who was probably 17, which was appreciated, and a conversation with a man who was probably 25, which was not. The girl gave him her number. The man grabbed his ass. Naturally that was when Cas approached and promptly punched the man in the face before zapping them back to the motel.

“What the fuck, man?!”

“Where the hell have you been?!”

Sammy had come back to their room to discover Dean and Cas gone. He’d just started calling when they appeared, Dean yelling in surprise and Cas wearing a look that screamed _“I’m about to righteously smite someone, so get the hell out of my way.”_

“Where’s our bag, Cas?! I like those clothes and I’ll probably want to wear them again when they fit me, you know! And I didn’t even get some food!”

Cas vanished again, appearing almost instantly with the bag from the store and two trays of meat with toothpicks in them.

“Christ, did you just steal the samples?” Dean said, laughing.

“What the hell is going on?” Sammy tried to interrupt.

Cas looked down at the trays in his hand. “I didn't steal them. The man said they were free.” He handed the food to Dean who shrugged and started eating.

“Will someone _please_ tell me what is going on?!”

“We went to the mall to get me some clothes that fit. I was just about to get some food when Cas freaked out and zapped us back here.” Dean shrugged again.

“You were being… _molested_!”

“ _What?_ ” Sam and Dean both shouted at once.

“That man was _groping_ you!” Cas was pretty indignant at that point.

“Dude, he just grabbed my ass. It’s not a big – oh, wait, I guess it’s the ‘angel’ thing, huh? God’s probably not okay with the whole gay –”

“ _NO._ ” Cas’s voice was harsh and loud. “No. It has nothing whatsoever to do with his sexual orientation. And he’s not ‘gay,’ he’s an ephebophile. You’re a _child_ , Dean. He’s an adult and he was assaulting you.”

“Dean, Cas is right. You know that’s not okay.”

“Of course it’s not okay, but it wasn’t a big deal. I could’ve taken the guy, easy.”

“You shouldn’t have to be able to ‘take someone!'” Sammy shouted again.

Dean stopped, mid-chew, and just looked back and forth between Sammy and Cas, taking in their postures and glares. “Guys, calm down. I know how to deal with people like that. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve been hit on by a perv. At least he wasn’t gross.”

Sammy and Cas just sort of stared at him, Sam's mouth gaping open while Dean ate his samples. They were pretty good. Too bad there weren’t more.

“Dean, if someone bothers you, let one of us know. We’ll take care of it,” Sammy finally said, and Cas nodded.

“Oh, you’ll 'take care of it.'” Dean rolled his eyes. “Sammy, I’ve been dealing with this kind of crap for years. I don’t need anyone to fight this battle for me. It’s not like I’m eight.”

Damn. He kind of wished he hadn’t said that. It was too specific and Sammy was smart. The murderous look on his face only confirmed that opinion.

“ _Eight_? What does eight have to do with anything?”

Dean sighed and put down the now-empty sample trays. “I sure as hell wouldn’t have said anything when you were little,” Dean looked him up and down and frowned, “but you’re all ‘grown up’ now. You can’t be that naive.”

Sammy sat down on the bed and sort of stared off into space. Cas gave Dean a really intense stare, like he was reading Dean’s mind, or his soul or whatever. It was kind of creepy to think that he might actually have been doing either.

“Look, really, stop making such a big deal out of this. That kind of shit happens when you’re left alone all the time.” Dean got a bit of a horrified look on his face. “No one came near _you_ , right Sammy?”

“No, of course not, I…” A look of realization came over his face. “I was never left alone.”

Dean nodded. “Not until you could take care of yourself. Not until me and Dad could teach you how to fight back and what to look for. Why do you think Dad started taking us to Pastor Jim’s if he was gonna be gone a while?”

Sammy still seemed horrified, but Dean was really tired of this conversation. Too chick-flick and Dean Winchester doesn’t do emotions and all that.

“Look, can we just drop this?” Dean probably sounded a bit too nonchalant, but there was only so much of this he could take. “I promise if someone’s hassling me I’ll let Cas do his Rocky impression again, okay?”

Cas blinked, _finally_ , and frowned a bit, “Rocky?”

“Don’t tell me you don't know Rocky?”

“I'm not sure what a rock has to do with anything, Dean.”

“Well then, I know what we’re doing tonight!”

***

Castiel liked the movie, especially the ending. In his (albeit limited) experience, movies usually ended with the protagonist the victor. He could, however, see the merit in illustrating that the process was sometimes more important to the character’s development than the success of the character at every stage. Castiel thought that, perhaps, the same was true about Dean. Dean had overcome so much, in such a short amount of time; less than a human lifetime, a small drop in the vast ocean of time that Castiel had been in existence. And yet in some ways Dean had lived more in that drop of time than Castiel had in all his millennia. Rather, he’d experienced so much more. Castiel had been an observer for so long, merely watching from a distance, not feeling, touching, tasting.

Humans were curious and complex creatures. Dean more than most in Castiel’s opinion, though he couldn’t honestly say it was an unbiased one. As long as he was being truthful, Dean fascinated him. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about Sam or any other humans he interacted with. He did. He cared about all of his Father’s creations. But Dean was… special to him. He privately acknowledged that what he’d said to Dean, about their soul-deep bond, was more accurate than he would care to admit. It made him somewhat uncomfortable. He could still remember, of course, his Heavenly punishment for becoming too attached to Dean. Seeing Dean a young boy who was already so strong, he wondered how anyone could be expected _not_ to develop an attachment to him. He was, Castiel had always thought, remarkable.

***

When the screaming began this time, Castiel did not hesitate to climb into the bed with Dean. He did not hesitate to hold him to his chest and offer what comfort he could. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could provide. Sam came over briefly to rub at Dean’s back, and Castiel did not resent that connection. He would give Dean any comfort that he could, as much love and affection as he could. That was what his grace had always craved.

After Sam went back to sleep and the screaming had stopped for the night, Castiel held Dean just a bit tighter.


	5. My Time is Now, I’m Coming Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes when you hurt it just reminds you that you're alive. It's never too cold for skinny dipping. Just don't try to dunk an angel. Demons can change your music tastes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from the song "St. Elmo's Fire" by John Parr.
> 
> I have no plan to add anything graphic (violence or sex), but this story is ALL about the relationships. I know that there's been a bit of a lack of Sam, but that comes more later on.

Sam was on the cusp of a breakthrough. The re-aging was a big clue; the second clue was that Dean essentially _became_ that age, with the memories until that point only; the third was that he retained the memories from the moment of contact with the spell on. He was just waiting on the translation of one more page and then, hopefully, he’d be able to at least predict when Dean would be back to normal. The problem was that Dean was now 18 years old and beyond frustrated with him.

Sam knew Dean’s bad mood was his fault, he even knew what he’d done wrong. It seemed as if he’d learned more about Dean in the last 24 hours than he’d known about him his whole life, and he felt terrible about that. Part of him realized that it was simply because he’d been so young when all of this was going on. But another part of him realized that he’d also never bothered to ask. So he was kind of coping with the guilt he was now feeling, and was also, maybe, just possibly, treating Dean a little differently because of it. Surprising him with a huge breakfast of all his favorite greasy trappings was probably what gave him away.

“Sammy, if you don’t stop looking at me like that, I’m gonna kick your ass.” Dean was pacing the room already, which was never a good sign. Sam dutifully looked back to his laptop.

Cas watched Dean pace, saying nothing. Sam wondered if he’d known about all that Dean had been through. Maybe, what with the whole man-handling Dean’s soul thing. But even he was not above reacting to Dean’s moods. Some of that must have shown on his face, at least enough for Dean to pick up on, because Dean suddenly pounded his hand against the wall.

“That’s it. I can’t take this anymore.” Dean snatched the keys off the dresser and stormed out the door. Sam jumped up and called after him, but Cas put his hand out to stop him.

“I’ll go with him,” he said, just before he vanished. Sam sighed and went back to his laptop. Maybe he’d gotten that translation back.

***

Dean didn’t realize that he had an invisible angel in the passenger seat. This was probably a good thing, because in his current mood it would only have made him angrier. He put on some Ozzy and turned up the volume. He wasn’t really sure where he was going but he felt a lot better being on the road, even aimlessly. It was what he was used to. The rumble of the engine, the noise of the road, and the music all ate up the miles. He didn’t know where he was going until he found it. A dirt road, barely as wide as the car, cut through some trees. He followed it down and was beyond pleased when it took him to a lake, secluded and still this time of year. Dean parked the Impala (and, oh, god, was he glad to see he still had her!) overlooking the water and let out a breath.

“You don’t normally listen to this album,” Cas said, suddenly making himself visible, and Dean jumped in his seat.

“ _JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, CAS_!”

“Apologies. I didn’t intend to startle you.”

“Well, you did! What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I wanted to make sure that you were all right.”

Dean grunted. “Yeah, well, as you can see, I’m just peachy.”

Cas just looked at him, and Dean felt a little weird about it, because _Who does that_? Just stares at someone? “ _What_?”

“I think I understand why you don’t listen to this song.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This song. You don’t usually listen to it. I believe it’s because of the complicated relationship you have with a demon named Crowley.” Cas kind of tilted his head a bit.

Dean listened, just to figure out what the hell Cas was talking about, then shrugged. It wasn’t their best, but he couldn’t imagine complaining about Ozzy. “What are you doing here, man?”

“I’ve explained already. I was concerned about your emotional state.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m _fine_.”

“You don’t seem ‘fine.’ You seem irritated.”

Dean sighed then. He was probably overreacting, but the feelings were still genuine. “I’m still… me, right? You told me that. You said I was me no matter what age I was or what body I was in.”

“Yes.”

“Then why is Sam freaked out all of a sudden? I don’t need to be fucking coddled!”

“It’s… upsetting to learn that someone you care about has been hurt. It’s not unusual for someone to blame themselves for harm that befalls another, even if that person was not their responsibility or they personally did nothing to cause that harm.” Cas looked out at the lake and frowned slightly. “It surprises me that you’re having a difficult time understanding this. This type of guilt is a core element of your personality and humanity.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Cas looked back at Dean and then out toward the lake again. “It will be a ‘chick-flick moment’ and I know how much you abhor those.” Dean suspected that was some passive aggressive bullshit right there, but let it slide.

“Well, we just won’t tell Sammy,” which earned Dean a brief and notably rare smile.

“Do you remember the shtriga from Wisconsin?”

Dean stiffened. God, what an awful time. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I remember.”

“It wasn’t your fault that the creature came for Sam,” then, when Dean started to interrupt, “not even because you left him alone. Every caretaker is entitled to time for themselves on occasion, and everyone is entitled to make mistakes. Yet to this day, and in the coming years, you still take responsibility for the actions of a monster. Even though you were a child yourself, you don’t blame your father, or circumstances, you take that burden onto your own shoulders. It makes as much sense as Sam feeling guilt over harm that befell you when he could have done nothing to prevent it.”

Dean shook his head slightly. “It’s not the same thing.”

“Why? Because you’re older? Because your father tasked you with Sam’s care? It’s only different because you were witness to it. Sam’s feelings of guilt are not just because he was unable to prevent it, but because he didn’t know.” Cas sighed. “If there is only one thing that I wish I could give to you, Dean, it would be peace of mind for everything that you blame yourself for but that you should feel no guilt over. Your heart would be so much lighter. If I could take that guilt from you, I would.”

There was an audible swallow. “Thanks, Cas. That means a lot.” And for the first time since this ordeal began, Dean reached out, much like his adult-self would, and gripped Cas’s shoulder. “But you’re right, this is too chick-flick for me. Come on.”

Cas dutifully got out of the car and followed Dean down to the lake. He didn’t ask what Dean was planning. He knew Dean would tell him in his own time. But he did show some surprise when Dean began taking off his clothes.

“Um. Dean? Why are you disrobing?”

“We’re going swimming. C’mon, get this coat off. Why do you wear it all the time anyway?”

Cas chose not to address that question, mostly because Dean had tugged the coat off of his arms and was now working on unbuttoning Cas’s shirt.

“Why are we going swimming? This doesn’t seem like comfortable swimming weather.”

“Nah, people go diving into icy water in the dead of winter sometimes. We’re not doing that. It’s probably only 70 out here. Not that cold. You need to loosen up, man.”

Cas allowed Dean to pull his shirt down his arms as well. “Is this another one of the human traditions that I’m unlikely to understand the significance of?”

“Yeah, probably. So c’mon, chop-chop, get those off,” Dean gestured to Cas’s pants and shoes then went back to work taking off his own clothes.

***

Castiel knew every atom of Dean Winchester’s body. He had remade it, piece by piece, had fashioned him back into his form. But Castiel knew Dean Winchester’s body as it would be in several years. This body was new and different and a little strange to him. Castiel had always found Dean to be beautiful. He supposed in that he wasn’t alone, since Dean had never lacked for… company. But seeing Dean like this, before so much of life – burdens unimaginable after decades in Hell – had changed and altered him, was remarkable. He was slightly smaller, lithe rather than muscular, and covered in a heavy dusting of freckles. The little hair that was on his body was auburn, a deep brown laced with red. Castiel thought that there probably wasn’t a single part of Dean that wasn’t beautiful. And while normally he wasn’t aware when his staring became inappropriate, this time he was the one to make himself look away, with a blush on his borrowed body’s cheeks.

“C’mon, c’mon, let’s go!” Dean seemed excited and enthused. And only for that, only for him, would Castiel do this. So he stripped off the last of his clothing and followed Dean to the shore. “Last one in is a dork!” Dean yelled and dove under the water. Castiel chose to walk in at a more reasonable pace instead.

“ _Oh my god, that's cold_!” Dean yelled when he surfaced. Castiel had to agree. His gradual method wasn’t helping to alleviate his discomfort in the frigid water.

“I don’t understand why we’re doing this.”

Dean shook his head much like a dog would, causing cold droplets to splatter against Castiel’s torso and face.

“Because, man, sometimes you gotta do something that reminds you that you’re alive!” He let out a whoop and then dove back under. Castiel rather thought that the act of breathing would have reassured Dean that he was alive, but he didn’t say so. Dean resurfaced behind him and all but leaped out of the water onto Castiel’s back.

“What are you doing, Dean?”

“I was _trying_ to dunk you, but your big ‘ole angel ass won’t go under.”

Castiel rolled his eyes at that and, just to be a bit of the dick that Dean once thought him to be, he dove under the water himself, taking Dean with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be making some edits to the first couple of chapters because I feel like I've gotten a bit of a better handle on character voices and I want to tweak it. The content itself won't be changed.
> 
> Sorry for the delay. A Deadpool plushie has been calling to me and I can't type while I'm crocheting. :-P


	6. Lord, I've Done So Much Wrong, but Please, Give Me Strength to Carry On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If we could talk to the animals, learn their languages, Think of all the things we could discuss...
> 
> We all loosen up in different ways. We all have different fears. Sometimes our wounds run deep.
> 
> Blessings in disguise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from the song "Give Me Strength" by Eric Clapton.
> 
> There really will be more Sam, I promise, but the primary relationship is Dean/Cas and I'm still building up to the Sam & Dean brother-y stuff. We've got a way to go still. (Not sure if that's good or bad, but such is the way it is.)

Dean was lying naked on the bank of the lake, his left arm draped over his eyes, letting the sun dry him. Cas was sitting to his right, naked as well and surprisingly less awkward than he’d been only a couple of hours before. He was trying very hard not to look at Cas. The man (was that what Dean should call him?) was broad shouldered and narrow waisted, muscled but not overly so. Dean had made a point of keeping his glances above the waist. Still, his hair was drying a bit wild, and his eyes seemed so, so blue in the sunlight. He had a peaceful, but intent, expression on his face.

“Stop thinking. I don’t know what you’re thinking about, but I can hear you and it’s loud.”

Cas frowned. “I’m listening, not thinking.”

“It’s quiet out here. What could you possibly be listening to?”

“You will find it odd and I don’t care to be teased right now.”

Dean pulled his hand off of his face and sat up abruptly. “Hey, now that’s not fair! What, is grown-me a douche or something?”

Cas looked down at him very briefly, then back up with a slight tinge of pink to his cheeks. “Sometimes, yes. But I believe your teasing is meant as a form of camaraderie. I am simply not in the mood for it at the moment.”

Dean frowned. “I was just curious. I promise not to make fun of you.”

Cas was silent for so long that Dean figured he wasn’t going to answer. “I am listening to the fauna.”

“Like… like animals and stuff?” Cas nodded. “That’s pretty incredible. Can you hear everything? People and birds and trees and shit?”

“Trees don’t speak, but yes.”

“Seems like that would be a lot of noise.”

“I can direct my attention so that I listen only to what I want to hear. It’s like tuning a radio. The information is always out there, but you have to know where to focus in order to pick up the signal.”

“So what are you listening to?” Cas hesitated, as if he didn’t want to answer. Dean held out his hands in a placating manner. “No teasing.”

“The birds are singing about the coming spring and about strangers in their woods. They’re pleased to have visitors that don’t disturb their homes. There is a rabbit that is curious about whether we have food for it, but I have assured it that we don’t. There are a multitude of small insects that have expressed interest in our presence, but we have not disturbed their homes, so they are content to stay away. It is pleasing to listen to the workings of creation. I don’t often get a chance to do so.”

“Yeah, well, like I said, you need to loosen up. Apparently you loosen up by playing Doctor Dolittle.”

“It’s not really speaking with them. It’s more like being able to read their… wavelengths. You have often accused me of reading your mind, but it’s much the same thing. You… project your thoughts to me at times. It is usually accompanied by strong emotions.”

“So it’s more like you’re just really good at reading people?” Dean wasn't sure why he was thinking on this perhaps a bit harder than necessary. But he’d never really considered what made an angel, well, an angel. Apparently when he was older he knew more about them, but as himself, now, he’d only known of their existence for 2½ days, no matter that it had been 6 years.

“Some people more than others, but yes. As a servant of Heaven I can see sins and the nature of a person’s soul. I can see if it’s tarnished and in what ways.”

Dean felt like his throat had closed up and it took an effort to swallow. “All of their sins?”

Cas smiled gently. “Humans have very strange notions of what constitutes a sin, and the interpretations given to the word of God are so far removed from the true meaning that what makes something a sin is all but lost to human understanding. It is the intent behind your actions that is most important. If one were judged solely on their actions, there would be no such thing as forgiveness.” Cas paused and smiled a little wider. “What you see as sins are sometimes actually blessings.”

Dean’s face scrunched up at that. That seemed rather cryptic. “Doesn’t seem like killing someone would be a blessing.”

“Well, no, not as such. But think of what you do as a hunter. You protect others from harm. That sometimes necessitates taking a life. Could saving someone from harm at the hands of another truly be a sin? God bade mankind to create their own laws and to follow those laws. The law makes exceptions for certain actions under certain circumstances. Why would God be any different?”

“What about… um… feelings?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Like, what about sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll? Pastor Jim was okay with us huntin’ monsters, but he thought rock music was the work of the devil and smoking a blunt would send you to hell.” Dean grimaced. “And don’t get me started on what he thought about sex.”

“You never cease to surprise me. You’re a very smart man, and always seem to get to the heart of humanity’s true failings. Think of it this way: If God did not intend humans to have sex, why would He have made it pleasurable? If God did not intend men to love men or women to love women, why would He have made sex pleasurable for men with men or women with women? Some who claim to speak for God believe that these were temptations placed there to lure mankind into sinning, desires that should be shunned. Yet humanity was the favorite of all of my Father’s creations. Why would He set mankind up for temptation and then condemn them for failing to shun it?” Cas shook his head at that. “No, Dean, I can assure you that God does not care about what type of music you listen to, how you are able to take solace, or whom you love. God is more concerned that you love at all.”

“So…” Dean’s voice trailed off as he tried to think about what he wanted to ask without broadcasting _why_ he was asking.

“God does not care who you are attracted to, Dean.”

“Is it… is it obvious?”

“No. You are actually very good at guarding your thoughts and emotions. But I’m a lot older than you probably realize, you’re not as experienced at guarding your thoughts and emotions as you eventually will be, and _I_ am not stupid, either. God wants you to be happy, Dean.” Cas smiled almost sadly at that. “As does Sam. As do I.”

Dean looked out over the lake, considering everything he’d just heard. He’d basically just been told by a freaking _angel of the lord_ , that God was cool with him. Pretty heady stuff.

“Okay, that’s enough of that. Too sappy. Let’s get dressed and get out of here. Sammy’s probably worried anyway.”

***

Sam was a little worried. Not a lot, because he knew Cas would keep an eye on Dean, but still, a little worried. At least, when they finally came back, he had some good news.

“So, get this. It looks like the spell wasn’t really meant to be malicious. I found a couple blog posts talking about it. Apparently the coven had been hired by a teenage girl to curse her mother to relive her teenage years, to remind her mom what it was like or something. That’s why you can remember everything that happened the day before as well as your life until that point. The spell’s actually pretty cool. It’s almost like time travel, like bringing your brain forward from that point, and then adding to it. I’m guessing it was the most recent spell our _Sabrina_ had been practicing and she used it without thinking. The bad news is that it will take a little while to get back to your original age. The good news is that you’re going to continue aging about 3 years a day until then. The other good news is that there’s no history of any lasting effects from the spell once you reach your original age, other than new memories. The other bad news is that it’s going to continue to hurt for a while.” He made a sympathetic face at Dean, trying to convey both his pleasure at the fact that Dean would soon be back to normal, and his empathy that Dean would have to suffer through this at all. The spell was really aimed at him, after all.

“Whaddaya mean, ‘hurt’? It hasn’t been a problem.”

Sam looked over to Cas. Cas’s expression revealed nothing. He shrugged. “You’ve been asleep when it happens.”

“When what happens,” Dean asked, suspiciously.

“You… Well, you scream. A lot. Cas hasn’t been able to heal you. Something about it being a natural process. But it takes you a while to get back to sleep.”

Dean looked angry. “Great. Fucking great.”

“Hey, if you don’t remember it, I’m not going to complain. You don’t need to remember,” he almost added ‘anymore’, “pain, and it doesn’t take long, so it doesn’t really bother anyone. Don’t worry about it.”

Dean looked over at the wall with his lips pursed a bit and his brow furrowed. But he eventually shrugged.

“So, what were you two up to?” Sam finally asked to break the somewhat awkward silence.

“Dean took me swimming. It was cold, but pleasant, and I was able to spend some time communing with nature.” Cas recited it like he was reading a grocery list and checking off each item as he came to it.

“Oh. Well, okay then. So!” Sam said, quickly trying to change the subject from Cas ‘communing’ and how exactly they went swimming while their clothes were completely dry. He didn’t need to think of that. Maybe Cas had ‘mojo’d’ them dry or something. Yeah, he was going to stick with that. “Lunch! Or dinner. Linner? Lupper, maybe? Whatever. Anyway, what do you want tonight?”

***

That night Castiel climbed into Dean’s bed as soon as Dean was deeply asleep. When the screaming started, he clutched Dean tightly to him and spoke to him reassuring words in his native tongue. He’d been told that Enochian sounded rough or harsh to humans, but Dean seemed to calm, either by the sound of his words or their nature. Castiel was just happy to offer whatever solace he could. This time Sam did not come to them, for which Castiel was perhaps unreasonably glad. Not because he resented Sam giving comfort, but because Sam was surprisingly perceptive, and Castiel wasn’t sure that he wanted anyone to read meaning into the particular look on his face.

He felt so fit to bursting with emotion sometimes, he was certain some of his Grace must be visible in his expression. Tonight Castiel was feeling tender. Tender toward Dean, and tender in that he felt raw and exposed. Neither circumstance was something he wanted Sam to see. Instead, he let those feelings wash through him, projecting them toward Dean, even in his disturbed sleep. He was hopeful that Dean would be able to translate that wavelength on the right frequency.


	7. Inhaling Sin to Survive, Leaving Grace Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are more than what we have done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm... sorry. I actually cried a little while writing this. :-/
> 
> Title taken from the song "Tarnished" by Immolation.

Dean at 21 was… stunning. Like, stop traffic stunning. He caught the attention of everyone who saw him, gender, sex, and sexuality were irrelevant. They all looked at him. And who could blame them? He’d reached his full height (still a few inches shorter than Sam, but more than adequate), he’d filled out, and he knew how to work with what he had. Dean was charming. He was beautiful, and charming, and so fresh and young that it was a bit shocking.

Sam had been in his senior year in high school when Dean was 21. He was focused on his future and his own interests, and hadn’t paid a lot of attention to the person Dean was at the time, as was natural for a teenager coming into his own. So it was a bit of a revelation to see Dean this way. When they all went out to breakfast, the 30-something-year-old waitress gave Dean her telephone number and an employee discount on their meal. When they went to the office to pay for a few more days at the motel, the clerk, a man in his 40s, got a smile from Dean and gave them a reduced rate on the room. Doors were opened for them long before the three of them were close enough to make it reasonable, but Dean always smiled at the person holding them, and that seemed to make it worth their while.

Sam was bemused and found himself smiling at the antics. Castiel was quieter than usual, which given his taciturn nature was kind of impressive. Dean seemed to take it all in stride, though. Probably because he was the only one who was used to it. All of this served to leave Dean in a rare good mood. In fact, he was downright cheerful. Which is why he decided it was time for a night out, and insisted on going to a bar. That’s how Sam and Cas found themselves nursing beers and getting a first-hand view of Dean hustling pool.

***

Dean knew how to hustle. He knew how to play the bimbo, smile and act dumb, start out small then go in for the kill. Dean also knew how to distract his opponent. Hell, sometimes it was too easy. Roll up his sleeves, run his cue through his fingers suggestively, bend over in front of the mark, look up through his eyelashes and wink, smile and laugh a lot. The occasional touch to an arm could do wonders. If the guy was receptive it worked, if it made the guy uncomfortable it worked. It was a win-win as far as Dean was concerned.

Sammy had said that they were doing okay with money, but too many lean years had taught Dean not to pass up an opportunity to make more. So when that opportunity was handed to him on a freaking silver platter that night, he put on his best winning smile and went to work.

***

Sam watched Dean drinking his third beer – none of which he’d had to pay for – and act tipsy. If there was one thing Sam knew, though, it was that three beers weren’t going to make a dent in Dean’s sobriety, not even at this age. He shook his head as Dean won the game, pocketing the money that the mark handed over. The conversation Dean was having was animated and he smiled brightly at his mark, glanced over at Sam and Cas with a tilt of his head in their direction. The man he was with nodded, gave Dean a pat on the arm, then watched Dean saunter over to where Sam and Cas were sitting.

Dean slipped a wad of bills onto the table in front of Sam.

“Geez, Dean, what is this? Four hundred dollars?” Sam’s eyes opened wide and he stuffed the money in his pocket.

“Five hundred. With an opportunity for more.”

“Is the guy stupid? You took him for half a grand already and he’s willing to risk more?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I just wanted to ask how sure you were on the financials. I don’t want to walk away from the money he’s offering if there’s a chance we’ll be on shaky ground.”

Sam glanced over at the man now leaning against a table and staring… intently… at Dean. Sam was confused. “What?”

“I mean five hundred’s good, but a thousand's better.”

“He wants to go double or nothing?”

Dean rolled his eyes again. “There’s no bet.”

Cas had been observing the exchange between them like he was watching a tennis match, but now his eyebrows furrowed. Sam couldn’t blame him. He was pretty damn confused himself.

“There’s no bet,” Sam repeated, trying to clarify what Dean could possibly mean.

“No, and I can probably talk him up to fifteen. He’s pretty eager.”

The lightbulb went on for Sam but Cas still didn’t understand – which was probably why the man was still alive, let alone still standing. “No,” Sam said low and rough. “No. And we’re leaving. Right now.” He stood abruptly and grabbed Dean’s upper arm, pulling him with him. “Come on, Cas.”

Cas was quickly catching on that something wasn’t right. When the man started toward them, Cas gave him a scathing look and Sam grabbed his arm as well, not wanting to make even more of a scene, no matter how much he wanted to filet the scumbag.

***

“Dude! What the fuck?” Dean said as soon as they stepped out of the bar.

“Shut up and get in the goddamn car. We’ll talk at the motel.” He was still all but dragging Dean toward the Impala, Cas walking quietly beside them. Sam was glad that Cas hadn’t worked it all out yet, because he was pretty sure that there was going to be some smiting involved once he did, and it would be better if the Winchesters were not nearby when that happened.

Dean didn’t resist, and didn’t even argue when Sam got in the driver’s seat. He kept shooting odd looks at Sam, but they were ignored. Sam’s temper, not-so-easily riled but a force to be reckoned with when unleashed, was barely contained. The silence was maintained until the door to their room closed behind them.

“Sit down, Dean.”

“Sammy, what the h—“

“Dean, _sit down_.” It was the tone that shut Dean up. He sat on the bed and watched Sam pace the room.

“Sam,” Cas began, but Sam cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Give me a minute, Cas.”

Sam took several deep breaths in through his nose, letting them slowly out through his mouth. Finally he pulled out one of the chairs and straddled it backwards.

“Dean,” he began, his voice breaking a bit at the end, so he cleared his throat. He started over, voice quiet and modulated. “Dean. I’ve never been particularly fond of how we’ve had to get money as hunters. But we _do not need to prostitute ourselves to do it_.” Sam was proud of the fact that he hadn’t raised his voice.

Cas, finally realizing what was going on, looked as murderous as Sam had expected. The room practically vibrated with his intensity.

Dean looked from one of them to the other. A blush tinged his cheeks before his jaw firmed and he glared at Sam.

“Don’t you _dare_ \-- don’t you _dare_. You don’t get to judge me. Don’t you,” and here Dean’s voice actually broke, “don’t you _dare_ fucking judge me for what I do to take care of you.”

“ _Me_? Dean, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm an adult! You don’t have to take care of me!”

Dean swallowed and looked away from Sam, passing over Cas to look at the hideous wallpaper before nodding once. “Yeah. You are. Now. To me you’re 17 and you want to take Rachel Nave to the prom and Dad won’t be back for god knows how long and I barely have the fucking money to feed you, let alone rent you a tux and have some left over for a corsage.” A single tear rolled down the outside of Dean’s right eye, running down his cheek and dropping off his chin to land onto his arm. Dean ignored it.

Cas sat down next to Dean on the bed, reaching out a hand to him, but abruptly brought it back to his lap when Dean shook his head, cutting him off.

Sam felt… well, Sam felt like shit. God, had he always been so fucking clueless? He remembered Rachel Nave. He remembered when Dean walked in with a tux in a garment bag and a boxed corsage. He remembered the huge smile on Dean’s face, how he’d handed him the car keys and a couple of condoms and sent him off with a wink and the admonishment not to do anything that he wouldn’t do. The bile rose in Sam’s throat. He’d never asked Dean how he managed it. He vaguely remembered assuming that he’d had a good night at the tables, poker or pool. He had been excited and wrapped up in his big night. He never thought about what it might have cost Dean.

Sam cleared his throat a bit, trying to get the taste of regurgitated beer out of his mouth. He tried and failed to start a sentence twice. Dean wasn’t looking at him and it made him feel worse. “I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t know. You should never have had to do something like that just so I could go to a fucking dance.”

Dean laughed at that, bitter and rough, still looking at the wall. “That wasn’t the first time, Sammy.” Sam flinched. “It gets easier after the first time. Once you’re desperate enough to cross that line, it hardly seems worth the effort to try to go back to pretending you’re too good to do it again.” Dean shook his head. “What did you expect me to do, Sam?” he asked quietly. It was probably a testament to how serious Dean was that he called him Sam instead of Sammy, the importance of which wasn’t lost on Sam, or Cas. “You were in pain. I wasn’t going to let you suffer.”

“When was I –“

Dean cut him off. “Four impacted wisdom teeth,” he said, shaking his head with the ghost of a smile on his lips a sharp contrast to the occasional tear running down his cheek following the same trail of the first one.

Sam could barely swallow. They’d been in a small town in Iowa and he’d been 15. He didn't remember much of that week. Dad had been gone a long time. Dean had been giving him stolen Vicodin, but on the third day had dragged him to a dentist. An older man, somewhere in his 40s, salt and pepper hair and very nice teeth. He’d been gentle and sympathetic and had done the surgery the next day. Sam had been so doped up he hadn’t thought to ask how they paid for it. But Dean had been 19 years old. Getting into the bars, finding marks to hustle, wasn’t as easy at that age.

“Even trade. Not a bad deal, really. Better than a bunch of thirty dollar blowjobs in dirty alleys.” Dean still wouldn’t look away from the wall, but Sam could see the look of self-loathing on his face.

Cas placed his hand on Dean’s forearm. Dean didn’t shake him off this time. Just let Cas touch him. Cas didn’t look murderous anymore. He looked like Sam felt. He looked like his heart was breaking for the young man in front of them. The man who had given so much for everyone else, but for some reason still saw himself as lacking.

A tear ran down Sam’s cheek as well. He made no move to wipe it away.

***

It was the tear that did it for Dean. It was bad enough to feel weak himself, to know that he was letting his emotions get the best of him. But seeing Sammy cry was too much. He hadn't wanted Sammy to know the type of person he'd been when Sammy was little. But he'd mistakenly believed that adult-Sammy would have already figured it out. His stomach felt like it was in knots. He stood abruptly and walked out the door.

***

“I'll see to him,” Castiel said quietly, disappearing in a flutter of wings.

He reappeared three feet away from Dean. Dean noticed he was there, but didn’t acknowledge his presence.

Castiel wanted to kill the man at the bar. No, not really. Well, yes, he did, but that wasn't all. He really wanted to raise John Winchester so that he could kill _him_. Oh, he knew John loved his children, that he wasn’t a _bad_ man. But he also knew that no child, no young man, should have had the burdens placed on him that John Winchester had placed onto Dean’s shoulders.

He’d known about this part of Dean’s life. It was a portion of his soul that was damaged. Not tarnished, not like a sin, but a wound that ran through Dean, one that had never had a chance to heal. That portion of Dean’s soul was practically throbbing right now.

Castiel remembered the first time that he’d spoken with Dean, that night in the barn. He’d seen that Dean did not believe he was worth saving from Hell. He didn’t understand it then, and he didn’t understand it now. Dean’s soul was bright and amazing. Seeing Dean’s pain now was difficult. He’d thought he understood Dean after seeing him at his rawest and basest form in the literal and figurative sense. But in the intervening years he’d come to see how intricate and complicated the tapestry of Dean’s soul actually was. When he looked at Dean now, even this younger Dean, he could see the patterns of his experiences working to forge Dean into the incredible man he would one day become. The incredible man he already was.

“Do you remember what I said to you at the lake?”

Finally, _finally_ , Dean looked at Castiel, albeit briefly. “Yeah.”

“The person you are? Your nature? It is still worthy. _You_ are still worthy.”

“You don’t know everything I’ve done,” Dean answered flatly.

“I told you, I have seen your soul. I have held your soul. I know you.”

Dean laughed a bit at that, almost a snort. “Then you _know_ how fucked up I am.”

Castiel walked up to him, getting well within what Dean would call his _personal space_ , and put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I know that you are unique among all of the souls I have seen. And I know that I value your soul above all others.”

Dean looked at Castiel, his eyes almost luminous in the dark, his lashes wet with tears, both shed and unshed. He stared into Castiel’s eyes for the space of three heartbeats...

Then he leaned forward and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's self-loathing does not reflect my own opinions. He's got nothing to be ashamed of. One day I hope he realizes that.


	8. The Supple Heart Is Not a Place to Dwell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The devil's in the details. No, not that devil. Gosh, life can be confusing with the Winchesters.
> 
> Ignorance may be bliss, but the easy way out isn't always the best way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Devil In the Details" by Bright Eyes

Castiel stood very still. He didn’t stop Dean, but he didn’t kiss him back. Dean’s kiss was rough, all pressure and force. Castiel could feel the emotions coming off of Dean in waves, and none of them were about affection. That, more than anything else, is what made Castiel step away.

“Dean, don’t.” When Dean turned away, Castiel could sense his feelings of shame. “You deserve better than this.”

Dean huffed disbelievingly. “Right. ‘Cause I could do so much better than an angel.”

Castiel stepped forward again, and placed his hand on Dean’s arm, right where that handprint used to be, and he cursed its loss yet again. “You deserve to be with someone because it’s what _you_ want. You deserve to kiss someone because you want to kiss _that_ person.”

“You’re not exactly hard on the eyes, man.”

Castiel sighed. “If you’re going to kiss me, I would prefer that it not be out of a misplaced sense of gratitude.” When Dean opened his mouth to argue, Castiel interrupted him. “If nothing else, _I_ deserve better than that.”

That seemed to get through to Dean, though probably for all of the wrong reasons. Castiel looked out toward the parking lot, and let his free hand drift up to his lips. When he’d thought about kissing Dean, and he _had_ thought about it, that was not what he’d imagined. He’d thought of passion, not sorrow. He’d thought of the Dean he knew, the Dean he’d grown to… care… for. Not this brave young man who was so similar to and yet so different from _his_ Dean.

“When you are back to yourself… When this curse is lifted… If you would still like to kiss me then, I won’t stop you.”

Dean looked to him, and Castiel blushed under the scrutiny. That seemed to please Dean and he smiled.

“I just might take you up on that, Cas.” Then he, too, turned out to the parking lot. And for that moment, it was good.

***

When Dean and Cas came back into the room, Sam had showered and was brushing his teeth. Again. He’d gotten sick, twice. Not out of disgust, though he knew Dean would think that. No, he was sick from shame. He’d known that Dean would do anything for him. Selling your soul for someone kind of proved that better than anything else could. But Sam could kind of understand that. After all, he’d tried to summon a crossroads demon himself after Dean was gone. But that was life or death. That wasn’t a school dance with a girl that Sam barely remembered (until he learned she was a demon). It wasn’t even a few days of pain.

He’d never questioned it, never considered the cost. Sure, he handled the money now, mainly because Dean hated to do it. ( _And didn’t that just make all sorts of sense now?_ ) But he’d never had to fund their lifestyle before credit card fraud and disposable cell phones. He’d never had to manage without a laptop or computer at the ready… never had to be responsible for someone too young to take care of himself. Since Jess’s death, he’d never even really been alone. The four months that Dean was in Hell he had Bobby for a while, then, well, then Ruby. Purgatory brought him Amelia. Even that one year, the one he didn’t like to think of at all, he’d had Samuel and the other Campbells. Dean, though... Dean had never truly had a chance to live _without_ the weight of the responsibility for someone else on his shoulders, whether that was Sam, Dad, Lisa and Ben, or even Cas.

Sam took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths before exiting into the room. Dean and Cas were sitting at the little table, downing whiskey. Well, Dean was. Cas was mainly watching. Sam walked up and snagged Cas’s shot glass. Cas didn’t even glance in his direction. Sam drank it down, swallowing the burn with a grimace, and then set the glass down with a clink. Without saying a word, Dean poured more out for him.

***

The bottle was empty and Dean had reached that stage of drunk where he didn’t really mind sharing his feelings. Castiel had relinquished his seat to Sam, and had to admit that the conversation between the brothers was enlightening, and probably a good idea, to a certain extent, as well.

Dean apparently believed that it would make Sam feel better about the night’s revelations if he explained that his… companions… were not always men. He relayed the story of a time when he was hired for the wedding shower of the mother of a girl he’d met on a hunt. Sam was smiling at the anecdote, though Castiel could sense his pain, especially when Dean explained how he’d gotten tipped extra. Sam probably would have been able to shrug off the story as he had other tales of conquests that Dean had shared over the years. Except for the part where he learned that the money had gone to fund a school trip to DC that Sam had taken when he was 16.

“I’m not really ashamed, you know,” Dean said, seemingly randomly. “All of it, any of it, is worth it, Sammy. Because you’re a good man—“ _hiccup_. “Cas told me. So I must’ve done something right.” Dean leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling. “Besides, it’s not like I have to hustle a corner or anything, and I make good money.”

Dean wasn’t watching, so he didn’t see the broken look on Sam’s face.

“And sometimes…” Dean’s voice trailed off. “Well. You can learn to enjoy just about anything after a while.”

Which made Castiel’s thoughts travel not to how Dean was able to survive life, but rather to how Dean was able to survive decades in Hell. Because, indeed, humans could overcome many things that they are forced to endure, often by finding some way to gain pleasure from it.

Castiel, however, was not human, and he had reached the limit of what he could stand watching Dean endure. He walked over to him and placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean looked at him upside down, smiling when he saw Castiel, like he was surprised that Castiel was still there.

“Come, Dean. You need to rest now.”

Dean didn’t argue. He stood, with Castiel’s help, and stumbled toward the bed. Castiel had just managed to toe Dean’s shoes off when Dean lost his balance, pulling the both of them down to the bed, landing with his head resting on Castiel’s chest.

“This feels nice,” Dean all but slurred the words out. And then he nuzzled his head down more, and promptly fell asleep.

***

Sam wasn’t nearly as drunk as Dean was. He stood on his own and made his own way over to lie down on his bed. He turned off the lamp and contemplated the darkness for a while, listening to Dean’s light snoring and Cas’s soft breathing.

“Did you really tell Dean that I'm a good person,” he finally asked in hushed tones.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Cas was silent for so long that Sam was pretty sure he wasn’t going to answer. He eventually let out a sigh, though. “Because you are. You do credit to the sacrifices he’s made on your behalf. You did not squander the opportunities that he gave you. More than that, though, you have been there for Dean, as well. Not in the same ways, perhaps, but in ways that Dean has needed and has not gotten from others.” Cas paused again. “Not even from myself at times.”

The silence stretched out a bit more. “It would have been easier if the spell had hit me.”

“Yes,” Cas swiftly agreed. “Dean certainly would have been more familiar with how to interact with and care for you. Are you sorry, though, to have seen these facets of Dean that you would not otherwise be aware of?”

“Not sorry, no. But it was easier not knowing.”

Cas let out a little huff of air, almost an aborted laugh. “What is the expression? _Ignorance is bliss_? Of course it was easier not to know. But Dean deserves to be accepted for every part of who he is, and appreciated for the man he grew into, especially in the face of all that he has overcome. To deny his challenges is to deny his successes.”

“I’m glad he has you, Cas.”

“Yes, well,” Cas said, almost flustered. “I’m very glad to have him.”


	9. Moments May Be Lost Somewhere In Time, but the Sweetest Memories Are Never Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean will always see the boy in the man that Sam's become. And that's all right. It makes everything worth it.
> 
> The kindnesses that we do don't have to be hidden.
> 
> Sometimes it takes a change of perspective to see what really should be obvious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from the song "The Man You've Become" by Molly Pasutti

It took Sam quite a while to fall asleep that night. He spent way too long simply staring at the ceiling in the pale light that seeped through the slit in the curtains. He heard Cas adjust on the bed, most likely actually getting _on_ the bed, since Dean had all but collapsed half on top of Cas without giving him a chance to get comfortable. Though he doubted that Cas would have complained about it either way. Cas rarely complained about anything Dean did anymore, and he hadn’t done it all that much to begin with.

Sam was happy that Dean had someone like Cas looking out for him, no matter that it was mutual. Because while Dean would naturally feel an obligation to him, as he did with everyone else, Cas was a super-strong warrior of Heaven who could (mostly) take care of himself.

The fact that Cas would, and had already done so several times, die for Dean was simply icing on the “someone else has Dean’s back” cake. It was a relief. Because, being realistic, how many people were there who would sacrifice like that? Parents? Brothers and sisters? Lovers, _maybe_? Either way it would take an awful lot of… love. It took an incredible amount of _love_ to be willing to sacrifice yourself for another person, to put that person’s needs above your own. And that’s something that Cas had pretty much always done for Dean.

***

For the first time since this ordeal began, there was no screaming that night. Dean was in discomfort for a while, but there weren’t any obvious signs of pain. Castiel reasoned that it was most likely because he was no longer physically growing at such a rapid rate. Dean was still pressed up against Castiel, gripping him tightly in his sleep. If Castiel enjoyed it more than was strictly necessary, well, there was no reason to mention it to anyone, right?

***

Dean woke up to a mouth that felt like he’d tried to eat one of his own t-shirts and his face buried in an armpit. Which he wouldn’t have expected to be nice, but it kind of was. It didn’t smell and the body next to him was very warm and comfortable. He snuggled down a little deeper and sighed. It was another minute or so before he remembered where he was and what had happened. And oh, great, wasn’t _this_ just all sorts of wonderful? Nothing better than awkwardly manhandling a freaking _angel_ – an angel you’d, you know, made a _pass at_ – before drunkenly passing out on said angel and cuddling him all night. Just awesome. Fucking awesome. He began to pull away, but the arm around him tightened almost imperceptibly.

“Dean, it’s all right,” Cas said softly.

Oh, right, he’d forgotten that he was hugging on a _mind-reading_ angel to boot. Cas still hadn’t moved, and short of forcefully pulling himself away (which probably wouldn’t end well; hello, super-human creature?), he was going to remain where he was until Cas decided to let him go. Dean groaned. Then he realized that it didn’t hurt to groan. Why didn’t it hurt to groan? That’s sort of what happened when you drank an entire bottle of Jack nearly single-handedly.

“Did you cure my hangover?”

Cas didn’t answer right away, and when Dean chanced a glance up at him through his eyelashes, Cas actually seemed a bit embarrassed.

“I didn’t wish to see you in discomfort. I could ease your pain, so I did.”

Dean chuffed out a laugh. “Dude, that’s a life-changing skill. I’m totally keeping you around.” This time when he moved to pull away, Cas let him go, though it almost seemed reluctantly. Dean shook his head, refusing to let himself get fanciful. “Can you cure cotton mouth, too?” Cas opened his mouth to answer and Dean waved his response away. “I’m fine, I just need some water.”

When he stumbled back out of the bathroom, Sammy was awake and sitting up, talking softly to Cas. Dean paused, doing a bit of a fish imitation with his mouth opening and then closing a couple of times. Finally he managed to get out a rough, low, “Sammy.”

When Sammy looked up at him, Dean didn’t even let him speak, just walked swiftly over and all but pulled him up into a hug. A hard hug, gripping him tightly.

“Dean? Are you okay?”

Dean stopped patting Sammy’s back then, but he closed his eyes and still held him tight. “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat a bit. “Yeah, it’s just… good to see you.”

“You saw me last night.”

“Right. I know. It’s just…” Dean reluctantly let his hands fall away and took a step back, all but staring at Sammy’s face. “It’s been a long time for me, man. Over two years.”

***

Oh. Right. Dean would be 24 now. Sam had been at Stanford and not talking to Dad, so Dean had kind of gotten caught up in that. And wow, there we go, Sam thought, another thing to feel bad about. Worse yet, this time it was something he’d thought he’d gotten over already.

“So what happened with your girl?” Dean said, smiling and clapping his hands together in front of him in a clear sign that he was ready to change the subject.

“My girl?”

“Pretty blond?” Dean motioned long, curly hair.

Sam inhaled quickly, catching Cas’s sympathetic gaze. Because Dean had said that he and Dad had checked up on him at college. Dean probably saw him with Jess. Sam cleared his throat, buying himself time to think of something to say. “That ended a long time ago.”

Dean’s smile dropped. “Sorry to hear it, Sammy.”

“No, no, it’s okay. You know, we didn’t get to talk a whole lot about what you and Dad were doing while I was at school. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to?”

Which, yes, was another weird thing about their lives that shouldn’t make any sense, but did. So Dean sat down on the bed and began to expressively talk about some of the solo hunts he’d gone on, carefully talking around John Winchester or their difficult parting.

***

Castiel watched the brothers with a combination of affection, amusement, sadness, and pleasure. Up until the last few days, Castiel’s only experiences with Dean had been post-Hell. He hadn’t realized just how much the experience had changed him. His tone was lighter. His voice less gruff. The most significant emotion he could sense from Dean was pride. Pride in Sam. Every time Dean looked at Sam, it would swell like a wave, and a small smile would flash. It was a stark contrast to the intensity of the emotions from the previous day, from three years before. Even the occasional sparks of sadness were overpowered by Dean’s overall sense of satisfaction when Sam would relay his own stories and funny anecdotes from his time at school.

Castiel had improved his _“people skills”_ in his time with the Winchesters, but even those changes were frequently not enough for him to decipher the many undercurrents of conversations. He did, however, know Dean. And this Dean was, for this moment, happy – and that happiness was centered on the successes of his little brother. Castiel could only liken it to paternal pride. Which made sense, of course, given that Dean had practically raised Sam. Perhaps Dean had spoken truth through his drink. Perhaps it really was all worth it to him to know that Sam was a good person, a good man. Whatever the reason, Dean’s happiness brought a smile to Castiel’s face. A real smile. A rare smile. A genuine smile.

***

The majority of the day was, surprisingly, spent in the motel room. Dean seemed reluctant to leave Sam’s side, reluctant to breach the sanctuary of the gaudy room and his friendly banter with Sam. A brief trip out for breakfast, another at lunch with dinner purchased at the same time. Then some beer and a friendly game of poker sitting on the bed, trying to teach Castiel how to bluff (“for a guy with what should be the best poker face _ever_ , you have a hell of a lot of tells, man”). Castiel would occasionally leave the room on some pretense or another to give Sam and Dean privacy to talk. Rather than feeling excluded in any way, Castiel was quite enjoying himself. He was mostly enjoying the feeling of contentment that Dean was practically projecting to him. Part of Castiel grieved that he’d been unable to know this Dean, though it certainly made him appreciate this brief glimpse he was getting.

***

When the night was eventually winding down, Cas seated himself again in the chair by Dean’s bed.

“You might as well just get in the bed, Cas,” Dean said, quirking up a corner of his mouth, though his eyes never left his duffel bag where he was tucking away his dopp kit. He chuckled at Cas’s blush. “Sam told me.”

“I was trying to ease your pain during the periods of growth,” Cas finally managed, his voice a little deeper than normal in his discomfort.

“Whatever, man. You don’t have to sit in a chair all night. And it’s creepy to just sit there and watch me sleep.”

Dean could tell that Cas was about to protest, until he glanced toward Sam. Whatever he saw on Sam’s face convinced him to give in. He stood up and removed his overcoat, suit coat, and tie, draping them over the chair, and toed off his shoes before sitting awkwardly on the side of the bed.

“Cas, just get under the covers, man. I know you don’t sleep, but you know how it’s done.”

Cas looked distinctly uncomfortable. It was probably because he’d been caught out on his nightly activities. Dean shrugged it off and went to the middle side of the bed before crawling under the covers.

“Night, Sammy.” Dean said, turning off the center lamp.

“Goodnight, Dean. See you in a few years.” Dean could practically hear Sammy’s smile, drawing his own in return.

It took to the count of 60 before Cas gave in and crawled under the covers. Cas laid very stiffly, prompting Dean to roll onto his side toward him.  
With a sigh, Dean draped his arm over Cas’s chest.

“Goodnight, Cas,” he whispered, and closed his eyes.

There was no response for the count of 30.

Under the weight of his arm, Cas rolled onto his side toward Dean, and put his own arm over Dean’s torso. Dean opened his eyes to see Cas’s face close in front of his, visible in shadows from the light through the cracks in the curtains. Dean’s gaze dropped down to his lips, just in time to see Cas lick them nervously, before raising back up again.

“Goodnight, Dean.”


	10. Changing Perspectives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean at 24, “deleted scenes” – or, alternatively, “Wait, that was a lot of crap going on there! You can’t just skip it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the same day as the previous chapter, just filling in the gaps of what was going on. I liked the flow of the other chapter, but felt that more needed to be included, and decided to make this chapter the same day. Sorry if that was unclear!

In contrast to every other morning, this morning Dean’s eyes did not automatically seek out Sam. Instead, he stumbled to the bathroom, leaving Castiel feeling bereft and a little self-conscious. It was _his_ eyes that sought Sam out, that made sure he was safe, that noticed when he woke.

“How’s he doing?” Sam asked hoarsely.

Castiel reached out and touched Sam’s forehead, easing the lingering discomfort from his excessive use of alcohol as well. “He was somewhat embarrassed with how he awoke, but otherwise in good spirits.”

“Whoa,” Sam let out a rush of air and shook his head slightly at the sudden dizzy sensation of rapid sobering. “Thanks, Cas.” Castiel gave a nod of acknowledgment. "I don’t know why passing out with you would bother him. He’s been in more compromising positions before.”

Castiel hesitated then. He wasn’t sure if he should explain, but he also very much wanted to confide in someone who could guide him through this unusual situation.

“I believe he was… unsure how I would react after what happened, uh, between us yesterday.”

Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Do I want to know?”

“Perhaps not. But I would appreciate some advice.”

“Of course, Cas. Anything you need.”

“When we were outside the room… he…” Castiel paused. He cleared his throat, unnecessarily but a learned nervous habit. “He kissed me.” Sam did not immediately respond so Castiel remained silently patient.

“Is that all?” He finally said, and now it was Castiel’s turn to raise his eyebrows.

“It was an… unexpected occurrence.”

Sam grinned, then, largely and openly. “Cas, he’s never been particularly subtle with the way he looks at you. It’s only gotten worse with him younger. He’s not as good at hiding his feelings.” Then he pursed his lips as if debating whether to continue. But Dean came into the room at that moment and the conversation ended.

***

Dean was determined. Today was not going to be like the others. No one was going to get upset. There wasn’t going to be any reason for sadness today. If that meant that they were going to lock themselves in the motel room, they’d do it. He wasn’t going to screw up again. Even with that in mind, though, seeing Sam again was a shock. Logically he knew that he’d seen Sam the day before. He remembered everything that had happened since the spell had taken effect. But… God, it was good to see him.

He knew the minute he’d almost put his foot in it. He needed to think, damn it! If Sammy’d still been with the blond, then he wouldn’t have been here with Dean this whole time. He held his breath for a moment to see how Sammy would react, letting it out only when Sammy let it slide. Just sitting down with Sammy to talk felt _so_ good. It was an escape from the emotions of the day before, but also a chance for Dean to feel connected with him again.

Now he just needed to figure out why Cas was staring at him like that. He’d implied he wasn’t upset at Dean’s… overture. So what did that look mean? Damn. Cas seemed to be eyeing him the whole time he was talking to Sammy. It kinda made him nervous. So he tried to ignore the way he was being watched. Focus on Sammy instead. Because god damnit if Cas hadn’t been right. Sammy’d turned out pretty good when all was said and done. He’d been successful at school. He’d had friends and a girlfriend and he’d been on his way to being a _lawyer_ of all things. Dean couldn’t help but feel pride in what Sammy had been able to accomplish. Yeah, it had been hard, especially the last couple of years without him. But seeing him grown up, knowing that Sammy had gotten to have what he wanted, a “normal” life, at least for a little bit, made up for all of it, even the years without him.

***

The first time that Cas gave them some privacy to talk, Dean didn’t say anything about what had happened. But Dean was pretty sure that Sammy knew something. It was in the way he would open his mouth to say something but then stop. The way he would look at Dean out of the corner of his eye and then look away. Dean kept the thread of conversation flowing onto other things, avoiding the topic of Cas altogether.

When they went out for breakfast, Cas sat next to Sammy, across from Dean. Cas didn’t eat, so he spent the time watching Dean intently. Which was all sorts of uncomfortable. Dean was a champ at avoiding unpleasant topics, though. Stuffing his mouth full of waffle usually helped, even if it caused Sammy to make his "gross, Dean" face.

The second time that Dean and Sammy spoke privately, Dean couldn’t take it anymore. “ _What_?”

“What, what?” Sammy responded, screwing his face all up into that innocent look. As if that would fool Dean.

“Don’t give me that. If you’ve got something to say, just say it already. And quit staring at me.”

Sammy smiled at that, a wide grin that was friendly and open and made Dean feel so much better. He was still a little annoyed, but damn, every time he saw a sign that Sammy wasn’t screwed up, Dean felt like he’d won the freaking lottery.

“Really, it’s nothing. It’s just… Cas really cares about you, Dean.”

Of all the things that Sammy could have said, that wasn’t even on the list of what Dean was expecting. “Probably comes with the whole _angel_ territory.”

Sammy shook his head before Dean had even finished getting the words out. “It’s definitely not an 'angel' thing. You call most angels 'dicks' on principle. You think he’d take a vacation from all his responsibilities to hold _me_ in my sleep?”

Dean just blinked at Sammy for a few moments. “I passed out on him,” he finally said, voice tinged with a little embarrassment.

“I’m not talking about last night. You really don’t know?”

“Know what?” But Dean was beginning to get a sneaky suspicion in the back of his mind, remembering what Sammy’d said about being in pain and Cas trying to heal him.

“Cas has been here every minute of every day since you changed. He isn’t the type to just sit by and watch you suffer,” Sammy raised his eyebrows at that, meaningfully.

“So, what? He’s been sleeping with me every night?”

“Basically? Yeah.”

Dean considered it a moment. “Probably just feels sorry for me.”

Sammy rolled his eyes. “Right, ‘cause we're all willing to die for someone just because we feel sorry for them.”

Now Dean was getting a little annoyed because he could tell that Sammy was being vague on purpose. “What the hell are you getting at, Sammy?”

“Everything I can tell you is something you’ll know in a couple of days anyway, I guess. But you’re probably going to go back to the days when you kind of treated him like crap before you remember why you don’t anymore.” Dean was about to interrupt, but Sammy held up his hand and continued. “Look, he’s _died_ , Dean. Several times, actually. And each time, he’s done it for _you_. Not for me, not for God, not to protect the world. For you. So when you get annoyed with him, just remember that, okay? He’s trying to be there for you now, too.”

Dean clenched his jaw and looked at the window. “Why would he do that? Doesn’t make any sense.”

“Just think about it, Dean. You’ll figure it out. I just wanted you to know what he’s done for you. Because when you first met him you weren’t always nice to him. I don’t want him to be hurt because you start treating him that way again.”

Dean looked down. His elbows were resting on his knees and his hands were clasped in front of him. He pulled them away and slapped his fingers down, rubbing his palms on his jeans. “Okay. I got it. Now let’s go get some food.”

***

Dean did think about it. He thought about it while he ate his lunch. He thought about it while he and Sammy exchanged stories. He thought about it every time he caught Cas staring at him. He thought about it as they caught a game on TV. He thought about it as he got ready for bed. And, even though it was a little embarrassing, he also thought about what Cas had said to him when Dean had kissed him. He hadn’t said he didn’t want to. He hadn’t said it was wrong. Cas had stopped him because he wanted Dean to kiss him for the right reasons. Then he’d all but offered to do it again.

He was staring enough that he caught a glimpse of Cas smiling at him. Widely and openly, and for a moment, Dean was stunned.

***

Castiel realized that it was unlikely that Dean would require comfort during the night. He wasn’t disappointed by that. Of course he wasn’t. He didn’t wish anything unpleasant on Dean. It would be entirely selfish of him to want the contact when it came at Dean’s expense. Castiel was _not_ selfish. Having come to that conclusion, he sat quietly on the chair by the bed to await a night of something he’d always enjoyed and that up until this point had always been enough: watching Dean sleep.

Thus his surprise when Dean _invited_ Castiel to share his bed. When he learned that Sam had revealed his nightly actions, Castiel might have admitted to being embarrassed. He believed he’d done the right thing, but Castiel also knew that Dean did not easily accept affection. Yet here he was, _requesting_ that affection, almost demanding it. It left Castiel very unsure of how to respond. He looked to Sam. He wasn’t entirely adept at reading body language and facial expressions, but even he understood a nod. So Castiel stood and removed his jackets, tie, and shoes. Then, responding to Dean’s prompting, climbed into the bed beside him.

Castiel didn’t know what to expect, but whatever he thought would happen, Dean holding _him_ wasn’t it at all. Though it was very nice.

***

From the other bed, Sam smiled in the dark.


	11. Regrets, I've Had a Few

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guilt is like a cancer that eats away at you.  
> The difference between atonement and forgiveness.  
> Hindsight doesn't always have perfect vision. Sometimes it's blind.  
> Baby steps. Baby steps. Baby steps.  
> Hold on to what matters. What matters isn't always what you think.

Sam woke to Dean pacing the room. Cas was still “dressed” for bed, his jackets still draped over the chair he was now sitting on. Sam had mostly forgotten how rough that first year back on the road with Dean had been. He had, naturally, been caught up in grieving for Jess and for the loss of the life he thought he would have. Dean had seemed pretty upbeat, aside from his worries about Dad. It was only now that Sam saw that this was mostly because Dean hid his concerns from Sam. And wasn’t that what Dean always did? Sam had gotten so used to the camaraderie that they’d honed over the years that being suddenly thrust back into that fledgling relationship was like emotional whiplash. Not to mention that, for Dean, the loss of Dad was still fresh and raw.

“What else aren’t you telling me, Cas? I know that for you all this shit’s already happened, but I don’t wanna wake up to any more of this.”

“That’s not an easy question to answer. So much has happened in these past years that it is difficult to pick and choose what should be revealed. You were already aware that your father had died.”

“Yeah, but not that it was _because of me_!” Dean yelled, causing Sam to wince.

“It was _not_ because of you, Dean,” Sam spoke up. “It was because of me.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Sammy? You weren’t the one he made a deal for!”

Sam swiped his hand over his face. It was too early to have to talk about this. But Dean didn’t need yet another thing to blame himself over. “None of it would have happened if it weren’t for me. You wouldn’t have been injured and Dad wouldn’t have made the deal. I made the wrong choice. It’s as simple as that.”

Dean shook his head forcefully, but Sam continued. “I had a chance to kill Azazel and I didn’t take it. If I’d done what I should have done, what Dad _wanted_ me to do, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt in the first place.”

Dean rounded back onto Sam. “You think you should have killed Dad? What the hell?!”

It was Sam’s turn to shake his head. “What do you think my hesitation gained him? He got a couple of days.” Sam swallowed back his guilt and pain. “That couple of days wasn’t worth years of Hell, Dean.”

It was obvious that Dean didn’t understand. Sam didn’t want to have to explain. It was bad enough to have to tell him what happened to Dad, he didn’t want to have to explain what Dean went through, too. A quick glance to Cas showed a sympathetic expression on his face, but it was also clear that he wasn’t sure what to say. No help there.

“Sammy, I…” Dean seemed to lose his train of thought.

Another shake of his head. “That single moment caused a chain reaction of suffering. For all of us. I know you think you’ve made mistakes in your life, but I can tell you right now that none of them will ever equal the mistake I made in not taking that shot.” And wasn’t that saying a lot? That Sam’s greatest regret in life was _not_ shooting his own father?

Dean had stopped pacing. He stared at Sam for a few moments before sitting beside him on the bed. “That can’t be true, Sammy. You’re the smart one, remember? You’ve always made the best decisions.”

Which earned a small snort of laughter, because if _only_ that were true. “You’ve got absolutely no idea how wrong you are.”

“Well, look, we’re still around, and Cas says Dad made it to Heaven, so it can’t be all bad.”

And damn if that wasn’t a fucking kicker, because now what the hell did he tell Dean? Dean, who doesn’t want any more surprises, but will wake up tomorrow a year out of Hell and that was a shit year, too, for all that he had Dean back. A year of _BAD SAM DECISIONS_. How was Sam supposed to prepare him for that? He tried to convey to Cas, through a series of fairly elaborate eyebrow movements and grimaces, that they needed to talk to Dean and he could use some help with that, but Cas was doing that owl-face he used to do all the time, and clearly Sam was going to be on his own for now.

“Yes… we _are_ around now. There were just...” here he tripped over his words a bit, “a _hell_ of a lot of bumps along the way.” And that made Sam quirk up the corner of his mouth. This, in turn, earned a small smile from Dean even though Dean didn’t get the joke. But it bought Sam a chance to hit the bathroom, and give himself a few minutes to think.

***

Castiel didn’t know what to do. He understood that Dean’s hurt and loss was still raw for him right now. He understood that Dean felt guilty (though when did he not?). And, while Castiel was certainly getting better at comforting others, he didn’t even know where to begin.

The morning had started out well. Castiel held Dean throughout the night. Oddly enough, Dean didn’t release him, keeping a grip on some part of him even in the deepest of sleep. Dean woke to them in the “spooning” position, with Dean the “big spoon” if Castiel understood his references correctly, which he was fairly certain he did. He definitely had not minded. Being held was very nice, though holding Dean was even better. But Dean had soon become angry and hurt. Once Sam left the room, he went back to pacing, worrying Castiel anew. Castiel was out of his element.

Castiel knew that Dean didn’t believe Sam. He knew that Dean never believed the worst of Sam. Not that Castiel necessarily agreed with Sam. Hindsight is clear, of course, and Castiel had the benefit of millennia of hindsight. He also had the weight of guilt for poor choices, choices that had gravely hurt the man in front of him. His reluctance to explain what had happened in their years of… friendship, was a completely selfish inclination. Castiel had so wanted to believe that he wasn’t selfish. Now, as he felt compelled to speak but also absolutely terrified to do so, he realized he was deluding himself. He was very selfish; humanly so. He did not want Dean to think less of him. There was an ache in his chest at the knowledge that he had no choice. Dean would hear the truth, and perhaps hate him for it all over again.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel said, stopping Dean’s pacing. “I should have expected this reaction. I’ll tell you what you’d like to know.”

So Castiel talked. He didn’t know all of the details. At some point Sam came back in, but he said nothing. Castiel told Dean everything he could think of that he would want to know. He told him about tracking down Azazel. About Sam’s death and Dean’s deal; about Hell. Oh, it hurt to see the pain on Dean’s face. He told Dean about raising him from Hell. Dean actually laughed a little when Castiel recounted their first meeting. He told him about Heaven’s plans for Dean. He told him about Sam’s relationship with Ruby. He told Dean about choosing the Winchesters over Heaven, which earned him a very odd look, but he continued. He told Dean about Lilith. About Lucifer. About the Apocalypse. About Stull Cemetery and pulling Sam from Hell. About Lisa and Ben. About Castiel’s own many mistakes, glossing over nothing. He didn’t look at Dean while he recounted these, especially breaking the wall in Sam's mind, unable to bear seeing the disappointment or even hatred in Dean’s eyes. By the time Castiel was winding down, Dean was wiping at his eyes, shaking his head, and Sam had left the room.

“I wasn’t there for much of those years so this is incomplete. Perhaps Sam can fill in more for you.” But Dean shook his head harder.

“I don’t think I can take anymore right now, Cas.” Dean’s voice was rough, more like what Cas was familiar with. As if the weight of his grief, the weight of his burdens, was physical. As if he was Atlas and he was collapsing under the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. No, don’t be sorry. I wanted to know. I just… didn’t _want_ to know… you know?” Which made Dean laugh at himself.

“I… think so. For what it is worth, I am sorry for the pain I’ve caused you and for the mistakes I’ve made.” Castiel lowered his head in an almost supplication. It was probably blasphemous, but what did it matter now? He’d already turned against Heaven for this man. What was a little more blasphemy?

“Cas, you’re talking to the poster boy for _fuck up_. I got no room to judge. Less than most from what you’ve said.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. “ _That_ is what you took away from all of this?” He threw his hand out to the side in dismissal. “Dean, don’t you realize that the mistakes you made were made for the right reasons and with the best intentions?” Castiel shook his head, hard. “I wish I knew how to make you understand that. There’s a difference between needing to be forgiven for your mistakes and needing to atone for your mistakes.”

Dean swallowed a few times, like he was choking on something. “Sounds to me like you had good intentions all along. If I don't need to atone for my mistakes, why do you think that you have to?”

Castiel looked up at Dean’s face. Dean was regarding him intently, as if Castiel were a particularly vexing puzzle that he was trying to solve. “You are human. You were created with the knowledge that you would make mistakes and that you would be forgiven for them.” Castiel looked away then. “I was created to serve. The mistakes I've made, which have hurt so many, happened because I was never meant to make those kinds of decisions in the first place. Too many people have paid the price for my pride.”

Dean sat down next to Castiel and bumped his shoulder against him somewhat playfully. “Sounds to me like you did the best you could, man. You were flying without guidance. For someone who was making his own decisions for the first time, you didn’t do too bad. At least you didn’t start an apocalypse.”

Castiel huffed in an aborted laugh. “No, I just unleashed Leviathan.”

Dean rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head down, looking at the floor. “You were like… a kid. When you’re little and you’re trying to make your own decisions for the first time, sometimes you make mistakes. And sometimes people get hurt. But you’re a kid, you know? You can’t blame a kid forever for a mistake.”

“Like you blame yourself for the shtriga?”

Dean’s head shot up quickly and he narrowed his eyes at Castiel. “It’s not the same thing.”

“No, it’s not. Because you really were a child, and I am older than humanity. You had no reason to know better. I did and do.”

Dean frowned. “It’s not the same thing. I had been taught. I had guidance. You were making decisions on your own for the first time in your existence. How were you supposed to know?”

“You didn’t have guidance, Dean. You had orders to follow.” Castiel looked down at his own hands, his borrowed hands. “You once mentioned that our fathers had much in common. I’m beginning to think that you’re right.”

“I usually am,” Dean replied with a grin. Castiel knew that he was simply trying to lighten the mood, but he didn’t mind.

And when Sam came back in with breakfast, Castiel felt lighter of heart. He still hadn’t atoned, not really, not fully, not yet. But he now felt confident that Dean would eventually be able to forgive him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "My Way" by Frank Sinatra
> 
> I see this as the real shift in the relationships now. Dean is still learning to see things from Sam and Cas's perspectives, but now is when he starts to take what he's known, and what he's learned through younger eyes, and show this perspective to Sam and Cas. This also starts him on a path of better communication once he gets back to his post-purgatory self. Ultimately this is supposed to be a journey of discovery for all of them.


	12. I Don’t Know If I’ll Make It, But Watch How Good I’ll Fake It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is easy when you're a Winchester. Really, Sam should have known this. How it could have come as a surprise is the real mystery.

It’s not that Sam didn't realize that Cas loved Dean. He did. It’s just that it wasn't until he saw Cas bond with a more-than-normally confused and so painfully young Dean that Sam realized its depth. What Sam saw was utter devotion to Dean and Dean’s well being. Seeing Cas interact with a more vulnerable and open adult-Dean was where the nature of that love became more obvious. Not just because Sam couldn't see Cas cuddling with _him_ all night (which, yeah, no, he couldn't), but because he handled Dean, physically and emotionally, as if he was the most precious being in all of creation. Which was a little odd, but also awesome.

What was most surprising was this-Dean’s reaction to Cas. The revelations of the morning would have been enough to send even pre-Hell Dean into a spiral of heavy drinking and anonymous sex. Yet when Sam came back with lunch and a preemptive case of beer, Dean was surprisingly okay. He seemed worn and frazzled, but whatever Cas had said to him had eased his mind, at least a little. Which, again, is something that Sam was peripherally aware of in a “this is how Cas and Dean respond to each other” kind of way, but now one of a bit of shock, since this was a Dean that didn't have years of history with Cas to get to that point.

The end result was Dean _not_ asking for a drink or demanding to go to a bar. Sam was surprised, yes. But very pleased. Very pleased, indeed.

***

If there was one thing that Dean couldn't stand, it was feeling like he’d fucked up. Unfortunately, that was mostly his default setting. He was used to fucking up, used to the guilt and the weight of that burden. Nothing in his seemingly endless (and, in this case repetitious) existence had prepared him for a freaking _angel_ forgiving him for his mistakes. Heck, saying they weren't even mistakes in the first place.

Cas seemed to be having trouble dealing with the guilt of some of the things that he’d done. Dean could understand that. Dude had made some pretty bad choices, no denying that. But it’s not like his heart wasn't in the right place. Even when he was trying to make himself look bad, it was obvious what he was trying to do. Dean wondered what had made him, future him, so blind to Cas’s motives that Cas would think he’d be angry with him. Then he remembered what Sammy had said. Future-Dean wasn't always nice to Cas, apparently. Though Now-Dean didn't really understand it. He felt chock full of feelings for the angel, and none of them were negative. Cas looked at Dean like Dean was valuable or priceless. He couldn't remember anyone ever looking at him like that. Maybe his mom, but he didn't really remember. How could he _not_ respond to that?

He was certainly responding to it now. Dean felt hyper aware of every time Cas glanced his way. Which was almost disturbingly frequently. Every time Dean felt Cas’s gaze on him, he felt an uncharacteristic blush, which he had to squelch. Sammy would never let him hear the end of it. He wasn't even really sure _why_ he was reacting this way. There was nothing suggestive or provocative about the way Cas was watching him, but it still caused a tug, a bit of almost discomfort in Dean’s chest.

***

Sam wasn't sure he could stand another day cooped up in the motel. Fortunately fate was smiling on them that day. Or frowning, depending on how you looked at it.

“I found a job,” he said, interrupting whatever silent non-communication Dean was having with Cas. “Hour or so away. Demon. Looks like a loner, but still causing a little trouble. Should be pretty simple, and we can even head back here since we've paid up the room for the week.”

Dean perked up immediately, which wasn't much of a surprise. Much as Dean liked some down-time, he didn't like being idle for long.

Yeah, this was a good idea.

***

This was a terrible idea.

Which, really, should have come as a surprise to no one.

Sam knew better than anyone that their lives were never easy or simple. Why he expected anything different when going on a demon hunt with a de-aged Dean, he did not know.

On the plus side, they’d _finally_ trapped the demon. On the downside, they’d trapped the demon _inside Dean_. Because, of course, Dean’s 27 year old body didn't have the anti-possession tattoo. Dean didn't know about it, and Sam had forgotten. This was bad.

“This is bad,” Sam muttered under his breath, partially to Cas, partially just to vent about the situation.

“Oh, Sam, don’t be that way,” the demon said in Dean’s voice. “Dean’s perfectly fine in here. Hm. Dean’s fine in a lot of ways,” it brought Dean’s hands up from his hips up over his waist and chest, practically caressing Dean’s body.

Cas stiffened beside Sam, his body rigid and practically burning with Holy anger. He began the exorcism in a deep voice, speaking the Latin in an evenly paced monotone. With every word, Dean began screaming. Cas’s recitation stopped suddenly, and he clenched his hands by his side. Demon-Dean’s screams turned to laughter.

“Aw, the big, bad angel doesn't want to hurt his favorite pet?”

Cas took a single step forward, but Sam’s hand blocked over his chest. “This isn't Dean, Cas. You know that.”

“Not Dean? He’s still here. Knocking on his skull to get out. Such a... _nice_ boy, isn't he? And, oh, does he have such _interesting_ thoughts about _you_ ,” the last part directed at Cas.

Sam quickly started the exorcism again, not stopping even as the demon began screaming again, as the occasional burst of laughter came through, with a taunting jab to Cas about his “pet.” Until finally the cloud of dark smoke flew from Dean’s mouth and sank down through the floor.

Cas caught Dean before he fell, holding Dean to him closely. “We will meet you back at the motel,” Cas said, and Sam found himself alone. Well, shit. That could have gone better.

***

Castiel gently leaned Dean back onto the bed and began removing his boots and socks. Dean groaned once or twice, but otherwise lay still. He propped Dean’s legs onto the bed and re-positioned him in a way that appeared more comfortable. On a conscious level he realized that Dean was okay. That the demon had not done any physical damage and that he and Sam had not done anything that would have been physically painful for Dean. On a subconscious level, he still felt somewhat ill at the memory of Dean possessed.

His discomfort continued as he watched Dean sleeping fitfully. The urge to _do_ something, to alleviate his worry, finally became too much.

***

Dean stretched out a little more comfortably on the hood of the Impala. Shirtless, with the first few buttons of his jeans undone, and his arms spread wide. The weather was warm, with a slight breeze, and the sky was clear.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said from Dean’s left side.

Dean sat up suddenly, jerking back a little in surprise. “Jeez, give a guy a little warning!”

“Apologies. I was concerned.”

“Everything’s hunky-dory, obviously.”

Cas studied him for a moment. “You’re asleep, but you’re recovering from trauma. I wanted to make sure you were undisturbed.”

“Wait, I’m asleep?” Dean looked around, at the road and the surrounding area. “How are you here? Is this really happening?”

“I entered your consciousness. It’s happening in your subconscious.”

Dean tried to think back on what he’d been doing before he was sunbathing on the hood of Baby.

“The hunt? What hap--” Dean stopped mid sentence, suddenly remembering exactly what _had_ happened.

“After we exorcised the demon, you collapsed. I wanted to ensure that you were well.”

Dean wasn't sure if he was well. He felt okay now, but he remembered the way it had felt to be possessed. To be aware of what was happening, but to not be able to control what was being done or what was being said with his own body, with his own mouth. The feeling of helplessness, the loss of... himself.

Cas stepped toward him, leaning on the hood. “Are you alright?”

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just wasn't pleasant.”

“I would imagine not. You are unscathed, however, and safe at the motel. Sam is on his way back.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks.” Dean glanced over at Cas, then away, feeling remarkably self-conscious for being in his own dream. 

“What’s troubling you?” Cas said, tilting his head slightly.

Dean opened his mouth to deny there was anything troubling him at all, but then closed it. He didn't want to lie to Cas, but he wasn't sure that he could explain just what was wrong. “Just don’t like losing myself like that. Feels... I dunno. Dirty. Know what I mean?”

Cas considered this for a moment before nodding. “I think so. I had a similar experience as the Leviathan took over my vessel. It is,” there was a pause. “Disconcerting to be a passenger in your own mind. At least you didn't say or do anything to hurt anyone.”

“Didn't I?” Dean asked with a wry quirk of his lips.

Cas’s head tilted again. “No. Both Sam and I were unharmed.”

Dean looked away then, staring into the distance of the deserted road. “The demon was trying to make you uncomfortable. Trying to rile you up.” He swallowed audibly. “By telling you about my thoughts.”

Comprehension lit Cas’s face. “Dean,” Cas said, very quietly. “As I've explained before, we share a unique bond. There is no shame in that. Your body and mind are in turmoil. Any ill will or unusual feelings that you have right now are likely a result of that. Your feelings will stabilize when your body and mind have been restored to their natural state.”

Dean didn't try to correct Cas about the nature of his feelings or the state of his emotions. Turmoil was the right word. But not for the reasons that Cas seemed to think.

“If you are feeling well, I should leave your dream now so that you may wake up. Take your time, Dean. When you are ready I will be there to greet you.”

With a nod, Cas was gone in a flutter of wings and displaced air. Dean remained seated for a few moments more. The hood of the Impala was sun-warmed and Dean could feel the heat of the day touching his shoulders, the soft breeze cooling him and spreading a sweet scent with it. This was a nice place, a pleasant dream, but it wasn't real. Real was a dingy motel room, his giant of a younger brother who was currently older than he was, and an angel in a trench coat. Taking a deep breath of the fresh dream-world air, Dean closed his eyes and allowed himself to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry this took so long. I've been sick. I'm doing better, but sick for me is a very big deal. I will try to get back onto a regular posting schedule again. Thanks to everyone for their patience.
> 
> Title is taken from the song Tonight Tonight by Hot Chelle Rae.
> 
> Yes, Dean's dream scene is based on this photo: http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lwm3dgi6LI1qgfn35o1_500.jpg
> 
> Dean and Sam did not get their anti-possession tattoos until the middle of the 3rd season, so Dean at 27 would not have his tattoo.
> 
> Though this is set in some vague future time, I'm going on the assumption that they aren't REALLY gonna shut down Hell entirely, as that doesn't make much sense to me. I've given myself an out, however, in that if they DO close the gates of Hell, there are bound to be some demons trapped on the other side. I've got no idea what would happen to an exorcised demon at that point, though. lol


	13. Some Nights I Call it a Draw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's changed. Sam is glad. Cas takes good care of Dean.
> 
> Dean in the shower. Should be hotter than it is, sorry. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the song "Some Nights" by the band Fun, which is a song that, in many ways, reminds me of Dean.
> 
> Again, I can only apologize that this has taken me so long. I swear, if it's not one thing, it's always five other things.
> 
> I don't think I'll need to change anything because of the season finale. Since this is set in some nebulous future, the assumption will simply be that The Boys will fix things. And actually, it kind of helps things, in that it explains even more why Cas is able to articulate what he needs to as well as he does. What he doesn't understand about humanity from watching it for a millenia, he will definitely get after being so thoroughly immersed in it.

Dean woke suddenly. Cas immediately reached out to calm him and handed him a cup of water, which he downed gratefully.

“Where’s Sammy?” Dean asked as soon as the cup was emptied.

“He’s on his way back now.”

Dean nodded, breathing deeply. He felt nervous, on edge, his skin sensitive to his clothes and to the air. He felt his muscles twitch, as if he were reacclimating himself with them.

“Dean, are you certain that you’re alright?” Cas rested his hand on Dean’s back, grounding him for a moment.

“I dunno, man. I just... I don’t feel right. I need a shower.” Cas nodded as Dean rose and walked to the bathroom.

Closing himself inside, Dean leaned against the sink, getting his bearings. When he felt like he had regained his balance, he started up the shower and stripped off his clothes. It wasn’t until he was standing under the hot spray that he realized he was shaking.

If there was any one thing that Dean hated even more than fucking up, it was feeling out of control. And right now, he wasn’t in control of himself at all. He didn’t know if it was adrenaline or shock or what, but his body felt... _wrong_.

He wasn’t sure how long he was in there. He wasn’t paying attention. It wasn’t until he felt the displacement of air that he seemed to come back to himself. The water was lukewarm at best and Dean was leaning heavily against the wall.

“Dean?” Cas asked, cautiously.

Startled, Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah. What’s up?” He ran his hand over his head and the back of his neck, making sure all the shampoo was out of his hair and he was fully rinsed.

“Sam called. He will be here within half an hour with dinner. You’ve been showering for an hour. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Dean stumbled a little as he turned to shut the water off, finally managing it. He stood there, letting quickly cooling water drip off of him, his head down.

“Dean?”

Dean peered up at Cas’s concerned expression peeking around the curtain. He held out a towel, never taking his eyes off of Dean’s face.

Dean went through the motions of drying himself, by muscle memory more than any conscious effort. When he finished and wrapped the towel around his waist, Cas stepped back, letting him out of the shower, catching him as he stumbled over the side of the tub.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” Dean finally managed to mumble.

“You’re reacting to the possession.”

“Sammy wasn’t like this after Meg.” Cas almost held back a flinch at the demon’s name. Almost.

Cas was silent while he led Dean back out to the room, all but dressing him and tucking him into the bed.

“As I mentioned before, the spell has only altered your physical form. Your soul still retains its memory, so to speak.” He paused. “Your soul is reacting to being subjected to a demon’s control once again.”

Dean’s eyes, which had been drifting closed, popped open. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t really know what to say. He knew that he’d been at the mercy of demons before, but there was definitely a difference between knowing and understanding. The reality was not what he expected.

Cas considered him for a moment before leaning forward and brushing two fingers gently over Dean’s forehead. The sudden warmth that infused Dean was relaxing and comforting. Peaceful. He swallowed audibly.

“Thanks, Cas.”

***  
Sam walked in with two pizzas and a bottle of top-shelf whiskey, a very rare indulgence. He may not be as familiar with this version of Dean, but he figured that he knew well enough when they were in for a bad night.

Dean was propped up, staring at the ceiling. He looked down as soon as the door clicked closed.

“Got you something,” Sam said, motioning to the contents of his hands before placing the boxes on the corner of the bed and holding out the whiskey to Dean.

Sam expected Dean to grab for the liquor like a lifeline, but his movements were slow and stiff as he took the bottle, almost reluctantly, with a nod in acknowledgment. Sam immediately knew he’d made a miscalculation. Whatever Dean needed right now, it wasn’t liquor.

“You should probably eat something first,” Sam said, a bit quickly, grabbing the top box of pizza, the one loaded with every meat topping they had available. Dean put the bottle down on the end table, and took the box with a little more enthusiasm. Only a little, though. While Dean was occupied getting a couple of slices and trying to convince Cas to eat, Sam snagged the bottle off of the table and put it by his feet, out of sight, to hide away later. Dean didn’t seem to notice.

***  
The show about geoducks that Dean had been watching as a pre-teen was on again. Dean seemed glad to watch what he’d missed before. Sam was too busy watching Dean to pay any attention to the show. Because Dean seemed... okay. Not great by any means, but well enough. And once again Sam could only speculate that the reason was his “new” relationship with Cas.

Over the years Dean and Cas had certainly gotten close, and he and Cas had, too. You can’t go through that much with someone without bonding over it. Cas’s bond with Dean had always been more “profound,” but there had been the strain of years of mistakes, a lot of steps forward and a lot of steps back. This was different. This was the way they would have been without the missteps and mistakes. This was how they would have been if they’d met somewhere other than Hell. If Dean had met Cas after all of Cas’s stiffness had already been worn away.

This was either going to end tragically or beautifully. Because Sam was watching two people fall in love. Or, rather, watching them fall in love all over again. Sam supposed he really was growing up, since he didn’t feel a desire to tease Dean at all. Mostly he wanted to tell Dean how glad he was that he could have this. Oh, how he hoped Dean could have this. For today he had this. For today this was right. It was the next few days that were frightening. The next few days that would bring them back to where they were, to the pain and the hurt and the confusion. Damn. Sam wasn’t sure he could take that.

With a sigh, he shut his laptop and got ready for bed.

***  
Dean fell asleep with his head resting on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel turned the television off and looked down at Dean’s face in the low light of the room. The shadows cast his cheekbones in stark relief and made his lashes look incredibly long. Asleep the worry and stress and sorrow no longer appeared on Dean’s face. He looked peaceful. Content. Castiel shifted so Dean’s head was laying on his chest, over the soft white cotton of his shirt, and wrapped his arm around Dean’s torso. Dean mumbled a bit in his sleep, his lips barely moving with the puffs of air, and curled in toward Castiel even more.

For those few moments, everything was as simple as it should be.


	14. Where Have All the Good Men Gone and Where Are All the Gods?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares of Hell (non graphic), resolving anger and hurt, a rare Castiel response. Poor babies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty short, but there will be several more chapters from this time period. The dynamics of Dean's relationship with Cas, Dean's relationship with Sam, and Sam's relationship with Cas during this time were so involved and so complicated, that it will take a while to work through it all. On the plus side, it didn't take me long to post this! lol
> 
> Title taken from the song "I Need a Hero" by Bonnie Tyler.
> 
> Resolution for a scene that I felt was necessary but has always bothered me. References to "Are You There God? It's Dean Winchester" and "On the Head of a Pin" which were very different episodes, but very good (especially the latter).

Dean’s sleepy mumbles eventually morphed into the occasional whimper and pained grunt. Rather than being surprised, Castiel had been expecting it. He didn’t need to visit these dreams to know what images Dean was seeing. He’d seen them in person, and he had no more desire to watch Dean relive them than he did to relive them himself. He didn’t want to risk entering his dreams now. He tried to only do so in a peaceful setting. Instead he went with the tried and true human method: he shook Dean awake.

Dean sat up sharply with a gasp, his eyes wide and searching, a silent scream still lodged in his throat.

“You are safe. Sam is here. You are safe.”

Wild eyes found Castiel’s, the fires of Hell still lurking in them. “Oh god.” Dean nearly leaped from the bed and ran outside. When Castiel found him, he was bent over, his hands on his knees, taking deep breaths.

“Why the fuck didn’t you warn me?” Dean’s voice was rough, as if his Hell formed screams had scarred him, as if his dreams had manifested in physical pain.

“Is there anything, anything at all, I could have said that would have prepared you?” Castiel was not without sympathy. He’d told Dean the basics of how Castiel had found him, of what had happened. But there was no way to adequately describe what Hell was truly like. He wasn’t sure he could have come close, though he’d seen it himself. And that was without the traumas that Dean had suffered.

Dean simply dropped his head in response. When Castiel put his hand out to him, Dean pulled back, quickly, as if he was afraid.

“Don’t. Just... don’t.”

Castiel paused, waiting. After a few moments, much of the tension had left Dean’s frame, He appeared drained and tired.

With a face almost contorted in pain and a voice rough with sorrow Dean turned to Castiel, saying, “how could you?” Castiel didn’t know how to respond. “How could you --” Dean’s voice choked. “How could you threaten to send me back?”

The question caught Castiel off guard. His shock must have registered on his face.

Dean’s lip curled up in a sneer. “You don’t even remember, do you?”

But Castiel did. Looking at Dean, that broken man whose soul was filled with torment, and demanding respect.

“For what it’s worth, Dean, I _am_ sorry. I would not have subjected you to Hell again.”

“Yeah, because I’m _necessary_ to _God_.” The last word was said with derision and a sneer.

“To some extent, yes, that was why. But it was much more than that as well.” Castiel paused and Dean looked up, watching Castiel’s face closely. “You must understand, Dean, that you did not know me. And though I’d seen your soul, I’d seen your Hell, and I’d built your body up from ashes, I didn’t _know_ you. You were so... angry. And argumentative. Questioning my very existence. So disbelieving that there was a divine purpose for you. You wouldn’t have responded to, as you put it, a guardian with fluffy wings and a halo. That wasn’t who I was, and that wasn’t what you needed. You needed to fight along side a soldier and that’s... well, that’s what I’ve always been.” Castiel met Dean’s eyes, intently. “I am not the same as I was then, Dean. I have changed, though not necessarily for the better in all ways. I know you now. I know myself now. I would not threaten such a thing now.”

Dean finally broke the eye contact, hanging his head down again.

“I would have given anything not to have placed those burdens on you. You never deserved any of it. When I... started to realize that, I was... punished for it.” Dean looked up at him at that point, concern etched on his face. Castiel felt very unworthy of that concern at this moment. “I’ve done what I could to atone for the burdens that I, alone, placed on you.”

Dean said nothing for a few moments. He swallowed audibly several times. His voice, when he spoke, sounded dry and strained. “Sometimes we don’t need to atone.” He stood up then, and though his jaw was still tight from stress, and there were dark circles under his eyes, he quirked a corner of his mouth up, just a little. “Sometimes we just need to be forgiven.”

“Do you? Do you forgive me for the way I treated you when we met? For the things I asked of you?” Castiel had always wondered this. Always wondered if Dean had truly moved beyond those rough first months, whether he’d grown to genuinely like Castiel, or whether he tolerated Castiel in spite of his missteps.

“Right now? Probably not. But I will.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “How can you know that?”

Dean actually laughed a little at that. “You’re family, Cas. I’m not sure how I know that, but I do. I... feel it.” He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. “Sorry for freaking out on you there. Just... waking up from a dream like that. And then seeing you...” His voice trailed off. “Sorry, man.” And he reached out and placed his hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

The action was a comfort. An acknowledgement that even in the face of such horrors, Dean still trusted Castiel, at least a little. It was filled with such emotion, such depth of feeling, that Castiel did something that, even now, he did not usually do. He initiated a hug with Dean.

Dean stood stiffly, as if he was unsure how to respond to the overture. But after the space of four heartbeats, he wrapped his arms around Castiel and gripped him, tightly. They stood like that, silent in the moonlight, holding each other and gaining solace from the other’s touch.


	15. Even Heroes Have the Right to Bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations in the night.
> 
> Doing what's right for the right reasons versus doing what you're told for the wrong reasons.
> 
> Spiritual discussions, though not discussions about spirits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from the song "Superman" by Five For Fighting.
> 
> Possibly insulting to someone who is particularly religious, though not meant to be insulting to anyone's beliefs. It's more my personal opinion about organized religion in general. So... be warned.
> 
> As always, sorry it took so long to post this.

There was no way Dean was getting back to sleep. He didn’t _want_ to go back to sleep. The dreams would just be there waiting. Or, rather, he supposed, the memories would. It was bad enough to remember what was done to him. But to remember what he’d done...

Distracting himself was easier than usual. He just focused on the conundrum that was Castiel. The whole curse thing was changing his entire understanding of the dick angel he knew. Because this Cas wasn’t a dick. It was difficult to reconcile what he knew now from what he remembered. Or would it be the other way around? Talk about confusing. Dean was just having some trouble trying to picture the Cas _he_ knew being a friend and confidant, let alone being compassionate enough to hold him through pain and nightmares as he slept. He tried going back over their interactions from the time they’d met, excluding the memories of the last few days. He knew that Cas was doubting more. He knew that he was feeling sympathy for the humans in his “charge.” He knew that Cas had helped him at some risk to himself. But that doesn’t automatically mean sacrifice. And Sam’d said that he’d died -- several times -- for Dean. Cas had mostly glossed over that when recapping the years, though, so Dean wasn’t sure what prompted it.

Which led to thoughts of Sam. And Dean didn’t want to think about Sam right now. Because Sam was right. Dean had been wrong about his bad choices, wrong that Sam was always the smart one. It was hard not to be bitter. Hard not to be resentful. Hard not to remember that Sam would choose a demon over his family. After so much had been sacrificed for him. After what _Dean_ had sacrificed for him. Which brought Dean’s thoughts back to Hell again, making his stomach clench, making him feel sick. Which would prompt him to distract himself by considering the changes in Cas, and the cycle was starting again, damn it, and he just didn’t want to think about it anymore.

“Dean, you don’t need to be so concerned by past events.” Cas spoke quietly in the early morning stillness. “You cannot change what’s already happened, and you’ve seen for yourself that much has resolved itself already.”

“There’s a difference between knowing something and _knowing_ something, Cas.” Dean’s voice may have held a trace of annoyance, but it was more directed at himself than anything else. He didn’t expect Cas to understand either way, though.

That’s why Cas’s response, “I understand,” was so surprising. Dean raised an eyebrow at him in question. “I’ve been human. Up until that point I knew about humanity, but I didn’t have the same understanding of it.”

“You’ve been human?” There was no way to keep the shock out of his voice.

“For a while, yes. It’s a long and complicated story.”

Dean didn’t push, but he couldn’t help but grin at the idea of the stuffy angel he knew being forced to cope with the trials and tribulations of mortality. Cas frowned. “No, no, I’m sorry. I’m just having a hard time picturing it. Not you as you, but you as the you I know.” Dean huffed out a laugh. “I mean, the you that --”

“I know what you mean.” Cas still had a bit of a scowl on his face. “I told you, I’m not the same as I was. My experience with humanity is part of that change.”

“Is that why you’ve been so,” the smile wavered and he took a deep breath, “so kind to me?”

Cas didn’t say anything for a bit, before smiling a small, secretive smile, and saying softly, “You deserve to be treated kindly."

Dean’s smile dropped completely at that, and he turned away. “Not really.”

Cas sighed, dropping his head forward and closing his eyes briefly, as if seeking patience or guidance. “I have seen so much of humanity that has grown and changed over the centuries. I’ve seen the good and the bad, the best and the worst. If I tell you that you deserve something so basic as kindness, could you not just simply trust me?”

***

Castiel could tell that Dean didn’t really believe him. But Dean _wanted_ to believe him. Of course he did. Hadn’t he always been seeking approval? Yet another of John Winchester’s failings was withholding that approval. There has probably never been a more devoted son. Castiel thought -- rather blasphemously -- that even Jesus had had his doubts. Dean, however, had always been John’s good little soldier. Dean had striven to be the manly-man that John had wanted. He fought and he drank and picked up women because that’s what he’d been taught made a good Hunter (with a capital _H_ ). But he was so much more than that, and Castiel was at a loss as to how to make Dean see that.

“There is nothing,” Castiel began after a moment, “that you have done that is unforgivable. Nothing.”

Dean worried at the edge of his thumb, still unwilling to meet Castiel’s eyes. “I’ve hurt a lot of people. I’ve hurt so many --”

Castiel cut him off. “You have helped so many. You have devoted your life to helping others. At some point you will need to help yourself. There is no sin in caring for yourself. There is no sin in taking happiness where it is found. The sin -- look at me,” Dean finally met his eyes, ”the sin is in suffering needlessly. There is so much pain and suffering in the world already. There is no need to manufacture it.” Castiel paused, trying to find the right words. He spoke and understood so many languages, languages long dead and long forgotten, and yet it seemed so difficult to convey such a simple message. “Just as you love Sam and want him to be content and satisfied in his life, so are you loved. When you refuse to accept the love that is given to you, you insult those who love and care for you.”

Dean gave no response, which was unsurprising.

“You are not alone, Dean. You have Sam,” but Castiel’s remark was cut off by a snort of amusement.

“Right. Until the next time that Sam meets a hot demon chick.”

“Sam has made his own mistakes. But while you don’t know this now, Sam has done his best to make up for those mistakes. He has said to you before that his greatest regret has been in letting you down. It may seem difficult to believe to you now, but you _have_ forgiven him.” Dean closed his eyes at that, taking a deep breath.

“You also have me.” Castiel’s voice came out more of a whisper than he would have liked. “I have not always made the best choices, and I have certainly let you down in the past, but I promise you that your happiness and well-being are of tantamount importance to me. So long as it is within my power, I will work towards making you happy.”

Dean’s whole body seemed to curl in on itself at that. As if the weight of Castiel’s affection was yet another trial he was being forced to endure.

“Why is that troubling to you?” Castiel was genuinely perplexed as to how his declaration could be seen as a burden.

“There are other people out there who deserve that kind of devotion more than I do, Cas. Good people. People who haven’t --” Dean walked a few steps away, staring off at nothing, but with too many images clouding his view.

“The worthiness of another person doesn’t negate your own worthiness,” Castiel said, simply. He was struggling, again, to convey what he wanted, _needed_ , Dean to understand.

Dean turned back to Castiel suddenly, his eyes narrowed. “Sam said that you’ve died.” Not a question, but a statement.

“I have.”

“Several times.”

Though it wasn’t a question, either, Castiel again responded. “Yes.”

Dean took a deep breath. “He said that you died becau -- for me?”

This time there was a definite question, though far from a simple one. Castiel took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I heard a saying once, one that I disagreed with at the time, but I have since come to embrace. _Morality is doing what is right, regardless of what you are told. Religion is doing what you are told, regardless of what is right._ I didn’t understand at first what that really meant. Because it took me awhile to recognize that religion and spirituality were different things. Religion is man’s construct. It is an attempt to explain that which is inexplicable. Spirituality is embracing the divine. You, Dean, have always done what is right, regardless of what you were told. At least, to the best of your abilities and knowledge. My brothers and sisters were doing what they were told, regardless of what was right. When I realized that, I knew that the choice to follow your cause was the right one.” Castiel looked away from Dean’s face, the questioning gaze, the surprise etched on oh-so-familiar features. “Once I truly accepted your cause as my own, the choice to sacrifice also became the right one.”

***

Dean studied Cas’s features, looking for those hints of doubt that had first led him to appeal to Cas. That first led him to push and prod at the dour Angel, to get him to see that there were other options that he had the power to take, other choices that he had the power to make. This Cas didn’t have those signs. This Cas was sure. Sure of himself, and sure of Dean. It was humbling, and terrifying, that he held such influence over such an incredible creature.

“Thank you. For that. For choosing to... disobey.”

Cas looked at Dean then, and the blue of his eyes looked so dark and intense in the reflected light of the street lamps and the small bulb outside their room.

“Not to disobey,” Cas said, carefully. “To be guided and taught. And for that it is I who must thank you. You trusted me, at times even when I did not deserve it. You gave me faith. Faith in something beyond my brothers and sisters, beyond God. You gave me faith in myself.” Cas tilted his head to the side, in a way that Dean was incredibly familiar with. “I could die many more times over and it still would not adequately repay you for that.”

Then Cas smiled, a real smile, a rare smile. “Though I would prefer not to do it again, if it’s all the same to you.”

Dean laughed. Truly laughed. In a way he hadn’t thought he could any more. In a way he thought had been tortured out of him. In a way he never expected to again.

“For you, Cas? I’ll see what I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always wondered about Cas's motivations. I mean, I believe he loves Dean, so I get that. But his love for Dean only explains so much. I believe Cas had a "crisis of faith" so to speak, in which Dean taught him that he could be an Angel of God, believe in God, love God, without agreeing with everything he'd been taught and told. For a creature of Heaven to learn that from a human, that's even greater, I think, than a declaration of love.


	16. Even If We Can't Find Heaven, I'll Walk Through Hell With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some words should not be left unsaid.
> 
> Who we are is still more than what we've done.
> 
> Someday Dean will figure it out. Maybe. We can hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from the song Stand By You by Rachel Platten
> 
> References to "On the Head of a Pin," "The Rapture," "When the Levee Breaks," and "Lucifer Rising," though references are in passing and not in great detail at this point.
> 
> I have decided that the relatively arbitrary cut-off of Dean's memories is approximately the end of each season. Or maybe it varies from "jump" to jump. Eh. Just work with me on this one. ;)

If Dean were aware of just how rare those smiles from Cas were, he’d probably hoard them and treasure them more. Dean was not aware, however, and thus enjoyed them but did not fully appreciate them. Perhaps because, for him, those smiles were not always so rare. Dean was the sole recipient of those smiles, the only one to draw them out, and the only one who earned them. Dean _liked_ it when Cas smiled, but the significance was lost to him.

***

Castiel could tell by the way that Dean kept glancing at the motel room door that he was not ready to confront Sam. His levity had died down and the two had lapsed into a mostly comfortable silence. With only that door reminding them of what Dean was experiencing and Castiel was remembering. Castiel wasn’t sure exactly where the cut-off of Dean’s memories hit. But if he was this angry, it had to be close to when Lucifer was freed. At the height of the anger between the brothers. Before he’d learned of Castiel’s fate that night.

Like always, Castiel was driven to ease Dean’s worries. To take some of the burdens from Dean’s shoulders. And, as always, he felt inadequate to the task. Castiel had spent years trying to determine what made Dean believe that he was responsible for the actions of others, and he’d yet to come to a satisfactory conclusion. There was seemingly no rhyme nor reason to Dean’s guilt. Castiel had simply come to accept it as another facet of the brilliant diamond that was Dean. Dean was complicated, in ways that Castiel was certain he’d never fully understand. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. It would detract from the joy of being with him.

That still, however, left him in the position of trying to comfort a man who believed himself unworthy of comfort, to reassure a man who would see any praise as a lie. It was an endeavor most likely doomed to fail, but one he felt compelled to pursue. Castiel could not explain it, but he’d long since given up on trying to fight the force driving him to protect, to comfort, to love. Because Dean was worthy of protection. He was worthy of comfort. And he was certainly worthy of love.

***

“So, um, Cas,” Dean began, hesitantly, clearing his throat. “You said that Jimmy’d moved on?”

Cas seemed surprised by the question, if the look on his face was anything to go on. “Yes, after the first time I died, he was no longer with me in this vessel when I regained awareness. His spirit resides in Heaven.”

Dean nodded. Jimmy had been a good guy. A devoted father. A true believer. Dean was glad that he was at peace. “Must be weird, rattling around in there all by yourself now.”

Cas tilted his head slightly, in a way that was extremely familiar to Dean from his own time, but not so frequent anymore in this time and this place. “It was strange, at first, to be unable to feel Jimmy’s soul. But now this vessel feels as if it is my own. It is easy, sometimes, to see myself with this face, with this body, especially since, for a while, it _was_ me.” At Dean’s confused look, Cas explained, “When I became human, I became so in this vessel. As a human, this was me as much as your own skin is yours.”

Dean nodded again, considering. “That’s... that’s kind of what I felt like when I... came back. At first, my body felt weird. Like it wasn’t really my own. All my scars were gone. All the signs of what I’d done in my life, what I’d done _with_ my life, weren’t there anymore. It was as if it wasn’t really my own body yet.”

Cas looked chagrined. “I’m sorry for that. Your body’s memories of shapes and textures and colors and... well, those things were still there. The scars and signs of your life were not. Even if I had been able to restore your body to its previous state, I’m not certain I would have. You were being given a fresh start, Dean. A new beginning. Your body was purified.”

Dean snorted at that, in a bit of disbelief and a bit of surprise. “Nothin’ could purify the taint of Hell off of me, Cas.”

Cas shook his head. “I don’t know why you continue to think so little of yourself for what you endured.”

Dean leaned back against the wall of the motel and closed his eyes on a sigh. Quietly, almost too quietly, he said, “I broke. I couldn’t take it. Dad didn’t break. And from what you said, Sam didn’t break from Hell, either. But I did. God help me, I broke. I broke and from what I can tell, it nearly cost everyone everything.”

***

Castiel was surprised. So surprised that Dean hadn’t figured it out. “You were _meant_ to break, Dean. Your father, Sam, they suffered, yes. I won’t lie to you about that. But it was...” Castiel paused, trying to come up with an analogy that Dean could understand. “It was the difference between minor league baseball and major league baseball.” Dean’s eyes opened in surprise and he gave an amused smirk, despite the seriousness of the conversation. “While the initial seal could have been broken by your father, yes, Lucifer’s followers assumed that they had time. Once they had you, they were not willing to take a chance. Dean, I am so sorry, truly I am, but you need to understand that you were subjected to horrors that were nearly unseen in even the deepest pits of Hell. They could not take the chance that you would _not_ break.”

Dean’s eyes had closed again at that, the smirk at Castiel’s reference now completely gone from his face. Castiel could feel the hurt, the pain, the tortured and torturous memories pouring off of Dean.

“Look at me, please,” Castiel asked, wanting Dean to see the sincerity on his face. “The fact that you lasted for thirty years, the fact that you held on for so long, is an unbelievable feat. I know of no other being who could have withstood such horrors for so long.”

Dean swallowed audibly, his eyes searching Castiel’s face for some sign that what he was saying was untrue, that he was placating Dean. There was none.

Castiel frowned to himself. “I wish I had told you this after what happened with Alastair. I am ashamed to say that it didn’t occur to me to do so. I didn’t know enough about humanity to understand that it was something you needed to hear.” Castiel looked down at his hands. At Jimmy’s hands, now his. “I did not recognize then that it was a burden, a responsibility, that you would place on yourself. I am sorry that I allowed you to think this way for so long.”

***

Dean had no idea what to say to Cas then. No idea how to respond. It had felt like a huge failing on his part that Dad had held on so much longer than he had. And when Cas had told him about Sam and the cage, about breaking the wall, but Sam staying (mostly) sane, he saw it as yet another example of his comparative weakness. Yet another way that he would never be able to live up to his father’s example, another way he’d failed his brother.

He wasn’t sure if he could let go of that guilt yet. If he could trust Cas that breaking was not a weakness. If he could even come to terms with what had happened to him. But maybe... maybe someday he could. Maybe someday the hurt and fear and crushing remorse would lessen.

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean bowed his head, glancing up at Cas through his eyelashes. Cas was looking at him with that intense, kind of creepy stare, Blue eyes unblinking, head tilted to the side again.

“You’re welcome. Though there’s really no reason to thank someone for telling you the truth. You should have heard this long ago.” Cas looked for a moment as if he were going to hug Dean again, but seemed to think better of it.

Cas turned to look back out at the parking lot and Dean watched him in profile. He felt an aching pull in his chest, as if a wire connecting him to Cas was stretched taut, pulling him closer with every breath. He remembered how he’d wanted to kiss him before, how soft Cas’s lips were under his. How Cas had said ‘not yet’ instead of 'no.' And Dean was tempted. Tempted to kiss him again. Tempted to pull him in and not let go. The only thing holding him back was the promise in Cas’s words, the promise that, when this was over, Dean could kiss him again.

That was the first time that Dean had ever initiated a kiss with another man, in so much as Cas was a man, he supposed. It was the first time that Dean had allowed himself to _want_ another man. The first time he’d considered taking another man for his own selfish reasons, rather than accepting a man out of necessity. Dean wanted. Wanted more now than he had when he was 21 and hurting. More now than he did now in his time, at his own age. So perhaps it was the magic talking, rather than his own will urging him on.

He settled for dragging Castiel back into the warm embrace of his body, wrapping his arms tightly around him, but with a manly pat-pat-pat to Cas’s back. Because that was an acceptable show of gratitude. That was how _men_ showed affection. Or so he’d been told.

Either way, Cas didn’t seem to mind, and Dean wasn’t going to pass up on a chance to feel safe and secure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has always seemed unlikely to me that Dean got the "regular" Hell treatment. There was no rush with torturing John, partially because they already had a "back up" in the wings (Dean) and partially because it was ALWAYS about Sam and Dean. Once they had Dean, they could not risk that he would NOT break. It was imperative that he did. They were probably also aware that the angels were coming, since many of the angels WANTED the apocalypse, and thus would have LET it happen and likely tipped off the Demons to what was going on. I think Alistair made it clear that he gave Dean a "special" level of torture. Rather than it being a weakness on Dean's part that he "only" lasted 30 years, I think it's more likely that it was *amazing* that he was able to hold out that long.
> 
> As much as I believe that Dean is supposed to be bisexual, I also think it's incredibly unlikely that Dean has ever had an actual *relationship* with another man. I think that, while John was alive he wouldn't have entertained the thought at all, not really. Being paid for it was completely different, a business transaction, not a relationship. And then he was with Sam, and he wouldn't have wanted Sam to see that side of him, definitely not at first. When you add on the emotional damage of having prostituted himself and then the fact that he was almost certainly raped in hell, I doubt that Dean has ever had sex with another man simply because he wants to.


	17. I Hate to Look Into Those Eyes and See an Ounce of Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgetting, forgiveness, and food.
> 
> References to "Monster Movie," "On the Head of a Pin," and "Lucifer Rising" though only in passing and indirectly.

Sometimes, when there was no easy solution to life’s problems, the best way to deal with them was to ignore them for a little while. Or so Dean believed. And the easiest way to ignore something was to distract himself. Which is why Dean, in his infinite wisdom, dragged Cas to a nearby diner to attempt to feed him various food items as a not-so-subtle way of avoiding a confrontation with Sammy and to recover from the intensity of the early morning revelations.

***  
There were many things that Castiel did not understand about Dean. His overwhelming sense of responsibility for things of which he had no actual responsibility. His guilt over his imperfections. His pop culture references.

More than most other things, though, Castiel did not understand Dean’s repetitive attempts at feeding him.

***

“I don’t need to eat, Dean,” Cas said, completely unnecessarily. Dean knew full well that Cas didn’t need to eat.

“It’s not a matter of needing to. You’re supposed to enjoy it,” he said, in an easy manner that was probably too exaggerated to fool even Cas. He hid it by scraping some of his hash browns onto a small plate and pushing it in front of Cas, remembering at the last minute to shove some hot sauce and ketchup over to him as well.

Cas stared down at the shredded and fried potatoes as if they had somehow personally offended him.

“Aw, c’mon, you said you’ve been human, so you ate, right? What did you like to eat?”

Cas no longer looked petulant. His expression turned thoughtful. “I enjoyed hamburgers,” he said, a little slowly but with a quirk of his lips. “But the foods I enjoyed most…” he paused, and then looked slightly embarrassed, “were the ones that you made for me.”

Dean couldn’t help his surprise. It was rare that he would get a chance to cook, even rarer that he’d cook for anyone but Sammy.

“There was some sort of stew? It was very spicy.”

Dean smiled. “Kitchen sink stew, yeah. Cures whatever ails ya.” Though his surprise ratcheted up higher, because that was a special dish. Something dad had made for him and Sam when they were sick or after something particularly troubling had happened, and something Dean had made for Sam on the same types of occasions. It was yet another reminder that Cas had definitely become something more, that he was definitely family.

Cas picked up his fork and poked at the hash browns. Dean was hopeful that he’d give in. He didn’t want to closely examine his reasons for trying to feed Cas. Because, really, he didn’t need Sammy’s Psych-101 experience to know that it was a nurturing thing. It had always been a nurturing thing. But Dean was good at ignoring things he didn’t want to face, and he didn’t want to face his reasons for wanting to nurture Cas. Because, most likely, they’d lead to troubling realizations that Dean was simply not ready to face.

Dean rolled his eyes to himself. Because he was making too much out of this, dammit. Nurturing, sure, or it could be that he knew all too well what it was like to go hungry, and he was feeling sympathetic hunger pains with the angel who didn’t eat.

“Just take a bite, Cas. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it, all right?”

Cas actually sighed, though he did spear a small piece. “I have had hash browns before. It was inevitable given the number of diners we have visited over the years.”

Dean hid his surprise, though he shouldn’t be surprised at all. It certainly made sense. No, what surprised him more is that Cas took the bite. If he’d said that he didn’t care for them, Dean wouldn’t have pushed. But Cas was chewing, slowly and carefully. Whatever reassurances Dean would have given him that he didn’t have to continue eating were unnecessary when Cas took another bite, then another.

“See? They’re good, right?”

Cas merely looked up at him through his eyelashes and continued to chew, a thoughtful expression on his face.

After he finished his bite and took a small, almost dainty swallow of Dean’s orange juice, Cas patted his mouth delicately with his napkin.

“They are palatable enough. Yours are better.”

Cas seemed to take some pride in the surprised and pleased look on Dean’s face.

***  
Castiel knew that Dean would be okay when he placed a to-go order for whole grain pancakes and fruit salad for Sam. Dean was still upset, still hurting, still reeling from the events of so many years before, but he did as he had always done and considered Sam’s needs no matter what. Though Castiel had told Dean that he was still inherently himself no matter what form he inhabited, it was always nice to have such a statement repeatedly verified. It reassured Castiel that he _did_ know Dean. Perhaps not completely, but reasonably well.

With that thought in mind, as they drove back toward the motel, Castiel cleared his throat. Dean side-eye glanced at him without turning his face from the road.

“I realize that the anger and hurt that you feel toward Sam are feelings that are current for you, but I would ask a… favor of you.”

Dean turned his face from the road at that. “Yeah?”

“Consider that, while it is fresh for you, these experiences are all ones that are in the distant past for Sam. That they are experiences that he has negative feelings about, as well. And that to resent him for them will only serve to hurt him at this point. I ask that you rein in your anger. Let this anger pass for now, knowing that when you wake tomorrow, you will not feel the same. It will spare a confrontation, and also spare Sam additional guilt.” Castiel felt a small tinge of shame at playing to Dean’s own sense of guilt. There is one thing that he can always, _always_ rely on Dean for, though, and that is his unwillingness to deliberately hurt Sam when he is fully aware that it is what his actions will do.

“I don’t know if it’s that easy, man.” Dean shook his head, though not in refusal. “He _betrayed_ me, Cas.”

“Have you ever thought to question _why_ , Dean? Why would Sam have tried to take on Lilith, even after being told that you were the only one who could prevent the apocalypse? Why would Sam have come to your aid with Alastair despite both Uriel’s and my assurance that it was something we needed from you alone?”

Dean’s lips firmed into a tight line, the skin around them tinged white with the force he was exerting to keep them shut.

“Sam was trying to take on those burdens.” Castiel waited until Dean glanced over to him, meeting his eyes briefly. “He was attempting to take those burdens upon himself so that you would not have to.”

Dean’s hands gripped the wheel tightly.

“You have always taken care of Sam. He was simply attempting to return the favor.”

At those words, the fight seemed to melt out of Dean. “Yeah. Okay, Cas.” He deliberately relaxed his grip on the steering wheel. “Okay. I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

***  
Sam was expecting a lot of things when he woke up, and he wasn’t looking forward to any of them.

He was expecting Dean to be pacing the room again. He was expecting to wake to the sound of yelling. He was expecting to face Dean’s cold, icy stare of disappointment. That look that had kept Sam in line through most of his childhood and a disturbingly large portion of his adulthood, as well.

Instead, Sam woke to an empty room. That was the best of all of the possibilities, he supposed. He didn’t blame Dean for not wanting to face him right now. He wasn’t sure where Dean was in that first year back, but there wasn’t much of it that could be good. Unless he caught him right after Oktoberfest, he thought with a small snort to himself, remembering a bittersweet case and the first time Dean had seemed mostly normal since he’d returned from Hell.

Sam went through his morning routine, only perking up when he heard the rumble of the Impala’s engine outside the room. His stomach roiled with nervous tension, unsure of what to expect and dreading any possible outcome. He braced himself for an argument that he didn’t want but probably deserved.

Instead he was greeted with a cheerful, “Mornin’ Sammy!” And a styrofoam container of breakfast. A glance to Cas told him why. And he greeted Dean back -- exceedingly grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm just going to stop apologizing for taking so long with the updates, because otherwise I'll never stop! Just be assured that I have not abandoned this and I AM going to finish it, even if it takes me a little (or a lot) longer than I hoped.
> 
> Also, FYI, if you don't do GISHWHES, you should. Just be sure you a) actually sleep SOMETIME, b) remember to stay hydrated, and c) you eat at least nominally healthily, so you don't contract scurvy. Okay, so it wasn't full-blown scurvy. Just anemia, dehydration, and a vitamin D and C deficiency. Still worth it.
> 
> Plus, if you don't know who Adam Ant is, you should. And if you get a chance to SEE Adam Ant perform live? You take it. Even if you ARE in the middle of GISHWHES and haven't slept in days and are knitting a freaking cardigan during the show. THAT was definitely still worth it.
> 
> Anyways, as always, thanks for your patience and thanks for reading!
> 
> Title taken from the song Sweet Child O' Mine by Guns N' Roses.


	18. Silent Lucidity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the important things aren't what we do for others, but what we DON'T do for others.
> 
> Dean is patient. When it counts.

Dean’s anger, when unleashed, had always been like a flash of lightning; brief, stunning, and terrifying. When it strikes true it could cause a tremendous amount of damage. After, you were left with the thunder: some grumbling and growling which, despite the way it sounds, wasn’t actually destructive. Dean had lost too many people to spend too much time with anger, at least when it came to the people who mattered.

Without an outlet, though, his anger could fester a bit. Seething just under the surface, ready to blow. But he was trying to learn from his mistakes. He didn’t want to drive Sammy away. Not now. Not ever, really, but especially not now. He knew, rationally, that he and Sammy were on decent footing. After all, Sammy was still around, still with him, still helping him. So they’d clearly resolved at least some of their problems. He also knew, rationally, that he held more than a little blame in the problems that they’d had (in his present and also his past). Dean regretted both hiding his pain away from Sammy, but also opening up, even a little, about himself. Sammy didn’t need to know what he was really like. The fact that he’d never figured out all the things that Dean had done to take care of him was proof enough that Dean should have just kept his mouth shut about anything that bothered him.

Now Dean was afraid of what Sammy saw when he looked at Dean. Did he feel disgust? Was he ashamed? There was little that Dean was afraid of anymore, but seeing disappointment and shame in Sammy’s eyes was something that truly frightened him. He tried to counter that with some righteous indignation for some of the mistakes that Sammy had made, but deep down Dean couldn’t sustain it. Because no matter what mistakes Sammy may have made, they’d never be as bad as the things that Dean had done. He knew that with a certainty that only rivaled his surety that pie was better than cake and that all demons lied.

So, yeah, he was willing to bite back his words and anger if it meant he didn’t have to see Sammy look at him with disappointment. Or worse yet, with pity. If ignoring his anger and resentment accomplished that, he could manage it. He _would_ manage it. Thus Dean did what he always did; he plastered a smile on his face and buried his hurt and resentment down.

***

Sam felt like he’d gotten a reprieve. He didn’t know what Cas had said, but whatever it was, it was enough. He could tell that Dean was upset, but he could also tell that he was tightly reining in his anger. The fact that he was willing to make the effort was enough. He took the food Dean offered him with a forced smile and a reminder to himself that this would be over soon.

Dean briefly spoke to Cas, too low for Sam to hear, before heading off to shower. Cas sat across from Sam, quietly watching him eat. It could have been like any other morning, really, but Sam was still tense and more than a little nervous. He waited until the water had been running a few minutes before putting his fork down and clearing his throat.

“Thanks, Cas.”

Cas looked at him quizzically.

“I don’t know what you said to him, but whatever it was, I appreciate it. I was really expecting a blow-out.”

“I merely reminded him that the difficulties he is experiencing are long in the past, and that rehashing them would be pointless. He agreed.”

Cas seemed to be shrugging off the importance of that, but Sam knew better. Dean didn’t back down for just anyone. Dean rarely backed down at all. And it wasn’t as if he was wrong. Sam knew as well as anyone that Dean had every right to feel angry at what had happened. And yet he was willing to keep the peace -- because Cas asked him to. There was something more than a little telling in that inaction. How many times over the years had Sam asked, even on occasion pleaded, for Dean to hold back? How many times had Dean actually done so? Too many and too few to count.

Yet a request from Cas was enough. Sam could have been upset by that. He could have resented the sway that Cas had over Dean’s choices. Mostly, though, he was just too damn glad that there was someone that Dean would heed. Someone whose words Dean took to heart. Someone that Dean respected enough to accept guidance from. Because Dean had so sorely lacked guidance in his life.

The truth was that all of Sam’s self control, all of his ability to rein himself in, was by Dean’s teaching. Sam could remember Dean reading him the same book, every night. Never complaining that Sam had heard the story one hundred and eight times before. Never complaining that Sam knew every word. Doing it because it was what Sam wanted. Sam could still remember Dean teaching him to tie his shoes. Over and over, Dean would demonstrate how it was done. Never snapping. Never growing frustrated. 

Times like that were the real reasons why Sam would, on occasion, tolerate Dean berating him. Why he would allow Dean the right to vent his frustrations. Because most times, when he felt the need to lash out, to argue back, he would get an image of Dean kneeling in front of him. “Make two bunny ears, Sammy. Then the bunny runs around, like this, and jumps in the hole! Pull it up tight, so he can’t escape!”

Sam looked down at his shoes, tied just the way Dean taught him, and smiled, a small, private smile. He didn’t notice Cas smiling as well.

***  
Dean used the shower as a chance to calm down. To really consider the fact that things had, in the end, worked out. The world hadn’t ended. Lucifer hadn’t taken over. Sammy was alive. Cas was alive.

Cas was right. Everything had already happened. Dean exhaled, slowly, letting the water wash away his anger. Letting the water wash away the frustrations of years past, and the frustrations that he knew would eventually pass. He would do this. For Sammy. For Cas. And for himself. Because Dean didn't want to be angry any more. He was tired of it. Tired of frustration and irritation, and most of all pain.

Each drop of water began to feel like too much. Each point of heat was too hot. He adjusted the temperature. That only served to change the sensation to burning cold instead of heat. Dean bit his lip, hard. his body shuddering with the force of his reaction. Shutting the water off suddenly, Dean leaned against the wall, trying to right himself, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart.

He wanted to pound the wall in frustration. He wanted to bang his head against the tiles until oblivion took over. Dean tried to force himself to calm down, taking deep breaths in through is nose, slowly letting them back out. Trying to remember the relaxation techniques he'd learned that one weekend with Lisa, he focused on feeling the air fill his lungs, in trying to push his anxiety out through his body with his exhale. Dean wasn't sure how long he stood there, just breathing, but his skin was cold and kind of clammy when he felt well enough to dry himself. Dean felt drained. Tired beyond his years. He wondered if _that_ changed in the future. If he ever finally got to feel rested. If he ever finally got to feel content. Given that he was currently staring at himself in the speckled mirror of a bottom rung motel in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere, he was pretty certain the answer was no.

That realization alone was nearly enough to have him take a swing at his reflection. Only the knowledge that Cas and Sammy were just outside the door held him back. He had to be strong. He always had to be strong. He leaned himself on the vanity, staring down into the sink and seeing nothing. He wondered if there would ever come a time when he could allow himself to be weak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the Queensryche song of the same name, because there is almost zero conversation in this chapter, but a decent amount of self-realization.
> 
> And yes, I DO apologize for it taking so long to post this! I'm so, so sorry. Seriously, like 10th Doctor level sorry!
> 
> Happy (insert whatever holiday you celebrate here)! And if you don't celebrate any of these holidays, Happy Friday. Because Fridays are awesome in and of themselves, and should be celebrated.


	19. Home is Where the Heart is So Your Real Home's in Your Chest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What we need isn't always obvious, not even to ourselves. Sometimes what we need is just to feel normal. For whatever definition of normal you follow. Because normal-normal is no fun for anyone.

Castiel, for all that he was pleased with himself for helping Sam, hadn’t realized the toll that his request would exact from Dean. As much as he, perhaps sinfully, prided himself on knowing the type of person Dean was, he still made the occasional mistake. The moment that Dean stepped out of the bathroom, Castiel knew that he’d made another one.

Dean was weighed down, burdened with the inability to express himself. He was all but projecting this to Castiel. Not anger, really, not even resentment, but a tangled web of feeling that Castiel couldn’t adequately decipher. He knew that Dean and Sam had not worked through their differences all those years ago, so much as they were forced to move beyond them by circumstance.

Now, with the mass of Dean’s complicated feelings all but crushing him, Castiel could see his error. He had denied Dean the ability to address his emotions, even in as unhealthy a manner as anger would have been. Watching Dean walk slowly, carefully, with concerted effort, to his bag, gathering up his clothes to dress, Castiel could see the stiffness in his gait, the sheer will forcing him to do something as mundane as place one foot in front of another.

He had done this to Dean. Because Dean had done what Castiel had asked of him.

Through the years, he and Dean had hurt one another. They’d caused distress and pain, but not really more than any other two people might given the circumstances. It was inevitable, when you were in close quarters with someone and learning that person as well as finding your own way, that you would make missteps. He and Dean had forgiven each other these small trespasses over the years, and he believed that they were now in a good place.

This, however, was something that Castiel should have known. Something he should have recognized. How often had he thought that Dean would be better off if he simply expressed himself? And this is what Castiel had done? Asked him not to? Castiel felt a sudden rush of shame infuse him. Which was, of course, exactly when Dean looked up at him. 

***

Dean couldn’t read that look, not really. He couldn’t pinpoint the emotion, but whatever it was, it wasn’t what he wanted to see. He looked away, snatching up his clothes and heading back into the bathroom to change.

_Damnit, what now?_

He’d done what Cas had asked of him. He’d pretended not to be upset. He’d ignored the problem because he’d been told it would go away. Why was he getting that look? Jesus fucking Christ, some days he really couldn’t win. And it wasn’t even ten o’clock.

***

When Dean came out, dressed if not really presentable, Castiel stood.

“Dean, may I have a word with you in private?”

Sam looked surprised at this, looking back and forth between Castiel and Dean, trying to figure out what had just happened.

Dean didn’t say anything. His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching just for a moment on the left side, and stormed toward the door, the open door the only indication of his willingness.

Dean had one foot resting on the wheelstop, staring out over the parking lot. To most casual observers, he appeared fine. But Castiel was no casual observer.

“What is it, Cas,” he all but ground out through clenched teeth. It wasn’t even a question.

Castiel hesitated. Just for a moment, to gather his thoughts.

The moment may have been too long, as Dean, never one to be idle, jerked to the left and started walking to the edge of the row of rooms. Castiel followed mutely.

Dean may have kept going, but Castiel called out to him, stopping him just at the mouth to the alley between the rows of rooms and the office. He glanced back, with barely a tilt to his head, and followed, with an exaggerated roll to his shoulders, as Castiel led him into the alley.

“What is it,” he repeated, his jaw barely moving and his patience even more thin than before.

“I’m sorry, I was wrong,” Castiel said simply, pausing again.

“Fuck. What now?” Dean looked ready to lose it completely. He was tense and angry and his hands were balled up into fists.

“I was wrong. I shouldn’t have asked you to avoid speaking with Sam. I shouldn’t have asked you to ignore your feelings.”

Dean turned away and took three steps, placing his hands on his hips in what Castiel had learned to recognize as his defensive posture.

“I’ve said many times that you should open up more, talk more. I should have done so again. It was wrong of me to ask you to avoid speaking now.”

Castiel wished Dean would turn around. He wished that Dean would look at him, so Castiel could at least attempt to interpret the miasma of feelings that surrounded him. Castiel walked to Dean, meaning to put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, to offer comfort and compassion for Dean’s feelings, but Dean spun around and glared at him before he could.

Dean opened his mouth to speak -- to say _something_ \-- and yet nothing came out. He turned and punched against the wall, a cracking sound echoing in the small area. Dean didn’t even seem to react, not to the impact, and not to what surely must be a broken bone. He just stared down at his hand, at his bloodied knuckles, and said nothing.

***

Dean barely registered when Cas took his hand in his. He looked at nothing in particular and felt unfocused. He didn’t seem to notice when Cas healed him, quickly and efficiently, as always. He did notice, however, that Cas didn’t release his hand right away.

“I really wish you’d stop injuring yourself,” Cas said softly, running his fingers over Dean’s hand.

Dean looked up at Cas through his eyelashes with a slight frown. Seeing the frown as he examined Dean’s hand, Cas looked up to him in much the same way. Though the glance was probably only two seconds, it felt like longer. It felt important. It felt meaningful. And Dean didn’t know what to do with that. There hadn’t been many moments in his life where he felt that he was on the cusp of something momentous. He wasn’t sure he knew what this was, or if he wanted to find out. It felt too big, too important, and like too fucking much, and he wasn’t ready for it. So he pulled his hand away and Cas dropped his arms back to his sides and backed a step away.

“Thanks,” Dean said with a swallow, taking his own step back.

***

Castiel didn’t understand what had just happened. So he pushed on. “I don’t want you to be upset. If speaking to Sam will help, then I want you to speak with Sam. If punching a wall will help you, then I will be here to heal you.”

“What if neither of those is what I need?”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “What is it that you need instead?”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. But I don’t wanna argue with Sammy. And punching things doesn’t hurt anyone but me.”

Castiel considered this for a moment. “Well, then... punch me.”

“What? No! Why would I do that?”

“You’ll be able to vent your frustrations without hurting Sam or yourself. It seems an ideal solution.”

“I don’t want to hurt you either, Cas!” Dean seemed truly horrified.

“You won’t. You can’t. And if it will help you feel better, I’m willing.”

Castiel could tell that Dean was actually considering it. His hands had again formed fists, and his jaw was tense. Then he seemed to relax.

“I don’t wanna hit you, Cas,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Well, then, what do you want?”

Dean’s gaze was steady on Castiel’s face for the space of two heartbeats.

“I just don’t want to feel like this anymore,” he said softly, turning his gaze to look over Castiel's shoulder.

“Like what?”

“Like things are never going to change.” Dean seemed to be struggling for words. “Like this is all there’s ever going to be. Run-down motels and a brother who’s with me but wants more, and… you. Always having to fix things.”

Castiel had an epiphany then. He and Sam had discussed bringing Dean back to the bunker. They’d decided that the familiarity of the road would be easier for Dean. Obviously they had, once again, misjudged what Dean needed.

“That is not how things are, Dean. You have much more in your life now. You have a home, an unusual one, yes, but still a home. You and Sam have friends. It’s not a normal life, by any means, but this is what is out of the ordinary for you now.”

Dean seemed skeptical. “A home? Since when?”

“For several years now. The only reason that you’re here is because you still, when necessary, travel to your hunts. This is not how you live any more.”

Dean swallowed audibly, his eyes closing on a blink that lasted just a bit too long. “So Sammy has a home? He’s got a normal life?”

Castiel smiled, then, because that was so like Dean -- to focus on what it would mean for Sam and not on what it means to him. “Not what I’d call ‘normal,’ no, but he has a stable life. As do you. You’ve made a home for the both of you. And… and for me.”

Dean’s eyes opened and a small smile twitched at his lips. “Well, yeah. Of course. You’re family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is taken from the song "Everyone's a Hero in Their Own Way" from Doctor Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. (Which is awesome and if you haven't seen it you absolutely should.)
> 
> Man, I knew this time period would take a while, but I was hoping that I could manage it a little quicker than this. Ah, well.
> 
> And I don't care if the show never shows Cas living in the bunker, because in my world Dean would never truly leave Cas on his own, and thus once all these story lines are worked through, Cas would always be with them.


	20. We're Strange Allies With Warring Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean rediscovers his home with Cas and some truths about the space between them.

The trip to Lebanon was going to take about four hours. Dean was antsy and excited and it was maybe driving Sam a little bit insane.

When Cas and Dean came back to the room, Dean didn’t look like he was going to go on a rampage anymore, so Sam was quick to agree to heading back to the bunker. If letting Dean rediscover his “Bat Cave” would make this whole thing easier, Sam was all for it. He didn’t even suggest that he should drive, and was mostly silent as they headed out.

Cas was quiet, looking for all the world as if he had nothing better to do than sit in the back seat of the Impala, and nowhere better to be. Which Sam knew wasn’t true, but he wasn’t going to be the one to tell Cas that, and it wasn’t his decision anyway.

He didn’t ask what had brought on the change in plans. He didn’t much care, if he was being truthful. If getting back to base was what Dean needed, it was simple enough to do. And, since he was being honest, he wanted to get back, too. He may not think of the bunker the same way that Dean did, but it was as much a home as anywhere he’d shared with Dean, except for the Impala. And maybe Bobby’s house, but he was thinking only in terms of what was still standing. A familiar bed and a safety zone was worth the hours trapped in the car with Dean’s mullet-rock, especially if the end result was positive.

***

Dean was in love. No, really. He was in love. He was enamored. He was infatuated. His mouth wouldn’t close, and he turned this way and that, eyes wide with shock.

“This is the coolest place I’ve ever seen,” he said, breathlessly, awe in his voice.

“You’re only a foot in the door,” Sam said fondly, with a slight shake of his head. “You haven’t even seen your room.”

The look that Dean turned on him was one of delight. He turned to Cas with equal wonder, and the grin that spread over his face was near blinding. “I have a room.” He paused. “Of course I have a room,” he said with more confidence than surprise. “Where’s my room?”

***  
Castiel stood in the doorway, watching Dean discover his bedroom. Dean walked slowly, touching some of the weapons on the wall, stopping in front of the crude knife that had cut a brutal swath through Purgatory. The pause was contemplative but momentary, and he moved toward the bed, glancing over the weapons displayed above it, and stopping to look on the shelf of his nightstand, noticing with satisfaction the small stack of science fiction and fantasy books that he’d never admit to owning. Dean sat on the bed, with a look of pleasure as he bounced a couple of times before turning to Cas with a smile that lit his face.

Dean looked around the rest of the room, then stopped with confusion at the desk. It was a simple piece, with an old-fashioned typewriter, some thin books, and a photo of himself with his mother. Dean’s gaze turned to the space across from the desk, past the door where Castiel was standing, to the comfortable arm chair placed there, facing the bed. His look of confusion intensified.

***  
A moment of silence, probably awkward, passed.

“What’s troubling you?” Cas said, his small smile dropping.

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. Really. It’s just…” Cas waited patiently. “All this?” Dean gestured expansively to encompass almost the entire room. “This is exactly what I would want. What I would have for myself.” He paused and his gaze fell to the desk again. “Mostly.”

Dean looked from the desk to Cas, to the chair, then back to Cas again. They didn’t _seem_ like things that Dean would use. He was perfectly capable of doing research, had hunted alone after all, but the desk was too small for his style. He liked to spread his research out, be able to see all of the references at once. And while he wasn’t as big on computers as Sammy was, it’s not like he couldn’t use one. Why would he have a typewriter? And sure, a chair is just a chair, but he’d grown up in motels, where space was a premium. He was the type to sit on his bed to remove his shoes, and he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to concentrate if he tried to read for entertainment sitting anywhere but in a bed.

Cas was giving Dean that intense stare again, as if he was trying to figure him out or dissect his brain, or count all the freckles on his nose. With Cas, Dean could never be completely sure.

“You decorated the room. I’m certain you had a reason for those choices.” Cas shrugged a little, but Dean got the distinct impression that Cas was… not quite lying to him. More just hiding something from him.

Dean’s gaze fell to the chair again. A comfortable chair, facing his bed. There was a small table to the side of it, with a lamp. The title of the book wasn’t visible, but it looked old. More appropriate for research than for pleasure. He looked to the desk again. At the typewriter and the small, neat stack of papers that appeared to have typing on them already. Then he looked back to Cas.

Dean = not stupid, remember?

“Those are for you.” It wasn’t a question. He suddenly knew it with a certainty that he couldn’t explain. The chair faced the bed because Cas watched him sleep. The desk held a typewriter so that Cas could make notes without having to contend with unnecessary applications on a computer, and without the glare that might keep Dean up at night. It’s not like the small clack of the keys would disturb his sleep.

Cas said nothing.

“This.” Dean looked to the desk, then to the chair, then back to Cas. “This is your room, too?”

Cas shook his head. “No. This is your room, Dean. You’ve just made a place for me to share it with you sometimes.”

Dean swallowed over a sudden lump in his throat.

Just how much had he come to trust this angel that he would not just allow him to be in this private space, this sanctuary, but that Dean would go through _effort_ to carve a space out just for him? The thought was staggering to Dean.

He’d known that Cas was family. Felt it with a bone deep certainty that obviously transcended time and space. But this was proof. This was concrete, visible proof, that Cas meant… something… to him. 

Dean wanted to ask. Wanted to ask why Cas didn’t consider it his room, too. Because it clearly was meant to be. Wanted to ask how Dean had explained it to him. How he’d offered this space in a way that Cas would accept and that Dean wouldn’t feel awkward about. He wanted to ask _why_ he'd made Cas a space to be with him. Did it mean what Dean was beginning to suspect it meant?

He didn’t ask. Because right now Dean didn’t want to know. He wouldn’t admit to being scared. To being worried about what the answers would be. But he was. He wasn’t sure he could cope with it right now.

Because the Cas he knew, even knowing he’d died and rebelled, that Cas wasn’t someone Dean would have offered this to. And that Cas wouldn’t have accepted anyway.

***  
Castiel gave Dean time to gather himself, because it was clear that he needed it. He wasn’t sure _exactly_ what Dean was thinking or feeling right now, but he could feel the waves of confusion rolling off of him. Castiel wondered how much of Dean’s distress was because he didn’t _want_ Castiel to have a space in his room, in his life. This Dean still called being watched over “creepy.” This Dean still chided him about “personal space.” This Dean pushed him away much more often than he drew him in. Castiel wouldn’t admit how much that hurt. Wouldn’t tell Dean how much the, even temporary, loss of his friendship meant. It wasn’t a burden that Dean needed to bear.

“You should come with me to see the garage. You’ve often said how much you enjoy _tinkering_ on the _classic cars_ down there,” Castiel said by way of an olive branch.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, though his voice was gruff. “Yeah, that sounds great.” He stood suddenly and walked toward the door.

“After, I’ll show you the theater room.” Castiel turned away before Dean’s jaw dropped in surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the song "The Space Between" by The Dave Matthews Band, which (lyrically) is a song that fits their relationship pretty well.
> 
> YES, I AM SORRY. I really, really am. I've been working on this, I promise. I've fleshed out the next few chapters and where they're going. We're almost done with this time period.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your patience and for the wonderful words of encouragement and the amazing number of kudos! This response has truly been so much more than I ever expected.
> 
> Also, season 9 has been a damn emotional roller coaster! Though I loved the Dean & Crowley buddy-buddy episode. I could not believe that Crowley said exactly what I've been saying since I started watching the show: No one hates Dean more than Dean hates Dean.


	21. We Are All Just Prisoners Here, of Our Own Device

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's kind of amazing how one's idea of "normal" can change. A little fluffy bunker-time because "tomorrow" is going to be rough.

Dean let himself be distracted. The garage was a lot of fun. None of the cars were as cool as his baby, but he enjoyed peeking under the hoods and seeing what he had been working on. The signs of his presence were there. A table in the corner held a few empties and an oily rag rested nearby. He could see himself enjoying a place like this, and Cas’s knowledge, though limited, indicated that he spent time down here with Dean, watching him work and keeping him company.

For his part, Cas seemed completely at ease. As if his place in Dean’s life was a comfortable one, or at least his presence in this area of Dean’s life was something he was used to. Dean wasn’t used to this. Every new sign that Cas had integrated himself into Dean’s life left Dean feeling exposed and uneasy. And still Cas was kind to him. Patient in explaining what he could, silent when it seemed that was what Dean needed. It was like shining a light onto the fact that Cas knew him. Knew him better than he knew himself, at least the Dean who lived here, in a space with an angel sized door carved into it.

Trying to reconcile that with the angel who threatened to return him to hell, who Dean had once called a hammer, a weapon… well, it was difficult. He couldn’t imagine what had happened to change Cas so drastically. Certainly a stint as a human would do some of that. But that wouldn’t explain Dean’s reaction to him, how _Dean_ had changed to allow Cas to be this way with him.

Cas seemed excited to show Dean around the bunker. He was almost completely silent, but he watched everything that Dean did, took note of everything Dean touched. When he brought Dean to the movie room, he smiled when Dean ran his fingers over the titles of the movies on the shelf. Dean was kind of reeling from the fact that there were so many _choices_ of movies. His whole life, he could only watch what was playing on whatever few channels they had at rundown motels. The luxury of being able to own a show or movie he liked, and being able to enjoy it whenever he wanted, was amazing.

“Do you want to watch something?”

Dean was almost startled out of his perusal by Cas’s question. His hand was hovering over a title, and he gave a pause, thinking about what Cas’s question really meant. It wasn’t idle or meaningless. Cas didn’t do idle or meaningless. Which meant that Cas was really asking if Dean wanted to watch a movie _with him_. Another second of consideration had Dean pulling Holy Grail out. If nothing else, Cas should get a kick out of the holy quest.

An hour and a half later saw Dean red faced from laughing. Even Cas had laughed aloud, though Dean’s favorite part had to be when Cas began to very seriously discuss the feasibility of a swallow based coconut transportation system. His overall assessment was that it would be an abject failure.

***

For the first time in a very long time, though apparently not so long for his future self, Dean sat down with Sammy for a homemade dinner. The bizarre fact was that it was something that he, himself, had made, but that he had no knowledge of making. A casserole, of all things, that he’d frozen for just such an occasion. It was a little unnerving and weird to him, but it didn’t seem to phase Sammy or Cas. His first bite was experimental. He probably shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was: it was good. It was very good. Dean felt a surge of pride at what he… was going to make? The idea caught him off guard and he let out an aborted laugh.

Sammy and Cas both looked at him questioningly.

“It’s just… weird,” Dean said, between a mouthful. Sammy made his grossed-out face, which only made Dean smile more. “I mean, I made this.” He paused. “In the future.”

Sammy rolled his eyes. “You didn’t make it in the future.”

“Hey, it’s the future to me, man. I’m eating food from the future. Don’t take that from me.”

Sammy rolled his eyes again, but went back to eating.

“Why aren’t you eating, Cas? It’s good.”

Cas smiled a little. “It’s very good. I had some when you made it.”

And Dean could picture it. Making a meal, Cas nearby, sharing small tastes as they talked. It would be comfortable and companionable.

The feeling wasn’t nearly as unsettling as he expected it to be.

***  
Dean flossed and brushed his teeth, which was awkward to do with the smile on his face. Despite the day starting off so crappily, he felt good. He was still amazed by his home. His _home._ Jesus Christ, he had a home, for the first time since he was four years old. He’d spent the day getting to discover cool things, he got to watch a classic movie with Cas, and he had a homemade meal. One he’d made himself. He’d taken a hot shower, for once not having to be concerned about whether the hot water would run out before Sammy had his turn. He was going to sleep in his own bed, one that he’d bought for himself, that hadn’t been the resting place of hundreds of other people before him. On clean sheets, that weren’t scratchy. In a room that didn’t have the odd smells of the last dozen travelers who’d stayed there. He chuckled a bit to himself at how excited he was just at the thought of going to sleep.

He finally finished up, putting his toothbrush away in the cabinet in _his_ bathroom. Because he had his own. His mind was blown. He wrapped himself in a warm robe that hung on the hook, and it all felt so domestic. He wondered if things like this even registered for “normal” people. Probably not, but he honestly didn’t care.

He turned off the lights and headed down the hallway, humming to himself under his breath, feeling a little bit of the swagger in his step. He pushed open the door to his room, saying, “hey, Cas --”

Dean stopped abruptly when he realized that the room was empty. He looked around again, just to be sure, then leaned back out into the hallway, looking to both sides, but still no Cas. Dean turned back out, walking toward the common areas.

He eventually found Cas in the library, sitting a little stiffly in one of the straight back upholstered chairs.

“Hey, man, what are you doing out here?”

Cas looked up from his book, blinking at Dean several times before he answered. “I’m reading a Men of Letters report on the efficacy of iron particle infused water used in a spray-weapon against ghosts.”

Dean absorbed (ha!) the idea. “Like a Super-Soaker for hauntings? What does it say?”

“That the combination works, however the dispersal system is prone to clogs and thus it is not practical for frequent usage.”

“Wow. That sounds… really dull. Why are you in here?”

Cas raised his eyebrows. “I’m reading.”

With a slightly irritated shake of his head, Dean said, “yeah, I get that, man, but I thought you’d be waiting…” Dean’s voice trailed off, as he realized what he was asking. 

Cas’s head did a slight tilt to the side, more a considering look than his full-on confused angel head-tilt that Dean was very familiar with.

Dean wasn’t sure of the best way to continue. “I’m going to go to bed.”

Cas nodded. “Of course. It’s been an eventful day and it’s rather late.”

He wasn’t getting it. Clearing his throat, Dean tried again. “Are you coming?”

It would be kind of cute to watch Cas figure it out, except Dean was a little embarrassed about having to ask Cas to… well, to come to bed.

Cas closed the notebook he’d been reading, placing it on the side table, and stood up. “Of course.” Dean tried to ignore Cas’s smile. He wasn’t particularly successful.

***  
Sam bid Dean and Cas goodnight, watching as Cas followed Dean into his bedroom. Sam wasn’t going to judge. Dean always slept better with Cas around. He shrugged and went to his own room. He was tired himself, and he had a feeling that the next day was going to be even harder.

***  
Castiel felt a little uncomfortable. It wasn’t a completely foreign sensation to him, but he was absolutely in a situation that he didn’t have experience with. While Dean had, in fact, made space for him, he was generally not so blatantly invited in. And Dean was usually dressed before he got there. As it was, Dean was still talking to him while he pulled on some boxers under his robe. Then the robe came off and Dean was putting on a t-shirt. Castiel had a hard time looking away, watching the play of muscles he was so familiar with, seeing the flex and pull as Dean moved.

When Dean climbed into bed with a positively _indecent_ sigh, Castiel finally looked away.

“Good night, Dean.”

Dean smiled one of his brilliant smiles, his eyes closed, “You coming to bed, Cas?”

Castiel considered Dean, considered him resting, under the covers, feeling secure in his home, and Castiel came to an easy decision. “Yes, Dean.”

Castiel carefully removed his shoes and then stood, shrugging off his suit coat and overcoat in one move. He laid them on the chair, then walked carefully over to the bed, Dean’s bed, before climbing under the covers.

When Dean rolled over, curling his body around Castiel’s side, Castiel let out a contented sigh of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you have expressed curiosity/concern as to why it takes so long to post chapters. I wish I had a better answer for you than just "I'm very, very busy," but that's kind of the right one. Between the 2 blogs, 3 Tumblr blogs, the Fan Page and Fan Group, my activism work, my charitable knitting/crochet, and my two school age children (not to mention all of their friends), it feels like writing time is almost non-existent. This week's some heavy activism, and then there's a couple comic conventions coming up for my little cosplayers, but I'm really hoping to get my chapters up more frequently and with less of a delay.
> 
> Thanks so much for your patience, your kind words, and all of the kudos!
> 
> Title taken from the song Hotel California by the Eagles.


	22. You Pretend it Doesn’t Bother You, but You Just Want to Explode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean knows better than to let himself get so attached to Cas. He knows it. So why doesn't he stop himself?

Dean woke to three burning needs: to piss, to find his fucking angel, and to punch said angel in the face. He also woke to his head resting on said angel’s chest, and a gravelly “good morning, Dean” ruffling his hair. Dean didn’t know how to deal with the last two, but he could certainly take care of the first need. Cas let go as he sat up groggily, and Dean mumbled something -- he wasn’t even sure what -- and padded off to the bathroom.

He took a little longer than strictly necessary. A splash or two of cold water on his face and a quick brush of his teeth had him feeling mostly normal. With one need down he was back to the two. Consciously he knew that Cas was fine, that he was sitting in a nearby room. But the driving need to find him, to see him, to make sure he was okay, was still there. Consciously he also knew that he must’ve gotten past his anger with Cas, but... he still kind of wanted to punch him in the face.

All of his memories were converging into one giant mess of emotion. Anger and hurt and fear, and beneath it all the constant need to protect, to help, to just fucking _be_ there for Cas. All of those frustrations, everything that had happened, the betrayals, the mistakes, they were swirling through his mind like a tornado, getting mixed up with the realization that he’d… Jesus fucking Christ, he’d taken Cas _to bed_. What the _hell_ had he been thinking?!

Dean couldn’t get a handle on his thoughts, on his memories. Too many different times, different places, mixed in with the here and the now, which was the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong everything. And dammit, the wrong person. He knew that. He knew better. He’d seen it in technicolor, 3D, iMax, what happened when he let Cas stray from his angelic path. There was no way in hell he’d let that happen. Not on his watch. Not again.

***

Cas was waiting for him when he got back to the room. He was sitting in “his” chair, his jackets and shoes still off. In the same moment that Dean could barely look at him, he could barely turn away. Cas was here. Cas was safe. How they’d made it out of purgatory, how he’d found him, none of that mattered, not really. Dean glanced over him, head to toe, taking in the little details. Cas seemed older somehow. Did angels age? He didn’t think so. Maybe it was just that Cas looked more world-weary.

Cas didn’t say anything, just looked up and waited. Dean opened his mouth to speak, then promptly closed it. There was another pause, one that should be awkward, but with Cas never really was.

“C’mon,” Dean finally said, looking away. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”

***  
Castiel didn’t understand what was going on. This Dean was much more adept at guarding his emotions, and all Castiel could read off of him was… frustration? anger? fear? Something similar of some sort. It hadn’t fully manifested, but even Castiel could tell that it was focused on himself. Contemplating where they were, so to speak, in Dean’s life at the moment, Castiel could make some educated guesses as to any number of things that could be bothering Dean. He just wished that he knew which one it was.

He trailed after Dean quietly, observing and saying nothing. He was good at that after all. It was what he’d done for most of his existence. He did, however, find himself growing impatient. Things had been improving with Dean. They had been communicating in a somewhat effective manner. Which for Dean was nearly unheard of. And perhaps after a couple of cups of coffee and some breakfast things would go back to that. But as the silence dragged on, through two cups of coffee and a bowl of cereal, he feared not.

***  
Sam strode into the kitchen wiping sweat from his face after his run, reveling in how good it was to get back into his routine. He’d just grabbed a carton of orange juice out of the fridge and was turning to get a cup from the cabinet when he noticed Dean and Cas sitting in probably the most awkward silence he’d ever seen. And he’d been hanging around the two of them for _years_ , so he’d seen awkward.

He subtly cleared his throat. Dean’s head snapped up, as if he’d just realized that Sam was in the room. And, just as it happened a couple of days before, Dean stood and grabbed him in a tight (sweaty) hug. Sam did some quick mental calculations, grimaced a bit to himself, and hugged Dean back.

They stood there for a bit, before Dean pulled away and, with barely another glance said, “good to see you, man.” Then sat back down to his bowl of… Was that Lucky Charms?

Sam looked to Cas, who simply stared back with that wide, non-blinking stare he sometimes got. Sam sighed to himself. Because whatever was going on in the mind of his emotionally-constipated brother, it was certainly going to make for a more difficult day.

***  
Dean didn’t know if he was glad or not when Cas didn’t follow him from the kitchen. Part of him wanted to grab Cas by the arm and not let him out of his sight. But another part of Dean wanted to get as far away as he could, as fast as he could.

He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t. He knew better than to keep letting Cas in. He knew it would end badly. As he looked around the bunker, seeing all the ways that Cas had integrated himself into Dean’s life, Dean didn’t know whether to scream at himself or punch something. Okay, fine, so things hadn’t panned out exactly the same way. But he knew what would happen if he let Cas in. He knew and damnit if he wasn’t doing it anyway. One day it would be a chair for Cas in his room. The next day Cas would be cleaning up for an orgy.

Dean wasn’t going to let that happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, seriously, so sorry. It's absurd. It is. But I really am.  
> I finally got a chance to finish this because my husband's in the hospital and I'm hanging out in the room with him and there is literally nothing else that I need to be doing right now.  
> I WILL do better.  
> I think there might be 5 or 6 more chapters to go.  
> Chapter title taken from the song Turn the Page by Bob Seger (covered by Metallica as well).


	23. If I Was Twice the Man I Could Be, I’d Still Be Half of What You Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean can't have what he wants. Cas doesn't know what it is that Dean wants.
> 
> Use your words, boys, use your words.

It wasn’t even ten and Dean was well on his way to being exceptionally drunk. He’d had -- he looked at the bottle -- about three fifths of a bottle of whiskey. Which was settling rather poorly on the Lucky Charms and morning coffee. Dean did.not.care.

He took another sip.

He’d cleaned up in purgatory. Wasn’t a bottle to be found, and for the most part he didn’t miss it. On those particularly cold nights, without a fire for fear of attracting creatures and only Benny to keep an eye on him, he wouldn’t have minded the slow burn. But it wasn’t a craving, wasn’t the driving need for oblivion.

Today Dean needed oblivion.

He raised his glass in a silent toast to Benny, wherever he might be. Cas hadn’t told him the details. Only that Benny’d gone back, and that it was his choice. Dean suspected there was more to the story. There always was. But Benny was long gone from now, even if Dean could still hear his drawl, still feel that nagging sense of unease at the same time he felt completely safe with Benny’s eyes on his back. Kinda like how he’d always felt with Cas.

Dean took another sip.

It all kept coming back to Cas, didn’t it?

Another swallow and Dean eyed the bottle. Four fifths gone, and his fingers were getting numb. He put the bottle down on the side table with a clunk and then sunk back down into the pillows, wriggled a bit to make a head shaped dent. He folded his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, watching it move in and out of clarity, letting the haze cloud his peripheral vision.

There was a knock on the door and Dean ignored it.

His eyes were just drifting closed when there was another knock on the door.

He ignored that one, too.

When that was followed by silence, he breathed out a sigh, smelling the alcohol on his own breath. His relief was short-lived when the tell-tale and unmistakable flap of wings greeted him next.

Dean closed his eyes fully and waited. Waited for censure. Waited for questions or commentary, or even that put-upon sigh that Cas would give him when Dean was being particularly vexing.

There was nothing.

Until there was.

But it wasn’t any of the things that Dean was expecting. Instead it was the sound of Cas’s coat rustling, the soft scraping of fabric on fabric, and then the sound of the pages of a book. Dean opened his left eye, glancing at Cas through his eyelashes. Cas was focused on his book. And Dean wasn’t sure what to make of that.

***  
They sat in silence. Dean didn’t know for how long. His drink-addled brain wasn’t cataloging the passage of seconds or minutes or hours. The only indicator of time was the sound of turning pages and the steady rhythm of breaths and heartbeats, which seemed too loud in the stillness of his room.

At one point Cas cleared his throat. Right, real subtle there, Cas. Dean smiled in spite of himself. But still, neither of them spoke. Dean may have drifted off for a while. In fact, he was pretty sure he had. He didn’t remember waking up, so much as just being aware again. Specifically of being aware that Cas was watching him intently instead of pretending to focus on a book. Dean still stayed silent, waiting to see what Cas would do or say.

He didn’t have to wait long.

***

“I am not a mind reader, Dean. You know that. I’ve explained it to you before. You often keep things hidden from me, and I’ve respected that. I try to allow you the right to speak when you wish, to keep your own counsel. But something is wrong. Something is very wrong to bring you to this point when… well, when you were doing so well. I am not a mind reader, and the sense of feelings I’m getting from you are ones that I don’t understand.” Cas took a deep breath. “I am asking you to please tell me what I’ve done that’s made you angry. Because I cannot atone for my mistakes if I am unaware of what those mistakes are.”

Dean let the flow of Cas’s words roll over him, let the sense of right-ness in Cas’s presence cover him. He took his time answering. More time than it should have taken, but Dean could be quite stubborn when he wanted to be. And this was not a situation he particularly wanted to discuss. He let out a huge breath, letting it gust out, taking the stench of whiskey and maybe a touch of his own internal poisons with it.

“It’s not you, Cas. You haven’t done anything. You’re exactly what you’re supposed to be.”

Dean was too drunk to realize his error. But it was an error, for all that it might have been a careless choice of words. And it was an error that Cas picked up on, as evidenced by his narrowed eyes.

“What do you mean, what I’m supposed to be?”

Dean scrunched his eyes and flung out his arm. “I mean, you’re you! You’re still an angel! You’re not a druggie. You’re not having orgies. We’re not living tog--” Dean broke off abruptly. Because drunk or not, he knew he shouldn’t say that.

***  
Castiel studied Dean’s responses, especially that last one. That catch in Dean’s voice when he stumbled over something he felt that he shouldn’t say.

“Dean, as I told you before, I have been human. Yes, I’m an angel. Just as you’re human now, though you haven’t always been.” Castiel waited for the inevitable questions, but Dean was apparently too drunk to make them. “You knew this days ago. Why would you think I would be anything else?” Castiel chose to ignore the strange references Dean made to orgies and drugs. Something was going on, but that was only a small part of it.

Dean swallowed audibly. He actually looked like he might be sick for a moment, but he soon got himself back under control. 

“You’re not going to give up your grace, Cas. I won’t let you fall.”

Castiel sat back into his chair a little more firmly. Something was _definitely_ not right. “It is not up to you to keep me from falling. I make decisions like that for myself. I am not in danger of falling. It took enough effort to recover my grace, I have no intention of losing it again.” Dean’s head lolled over in Castiel’s direction at that.

“What were you like? When you were human?”

Castiel considered not answering, but for some reason this was important to Dean, and as always he would give Dean what he needed if it was within his power to do so.

“I was… confused. I understood the basics of humanity. I understood the concepts of hunger. Of fear. Of cold. Of urination. The realities are very different. I learned that hunger is a gnawing in your gut that is almost impossible to ignore. That when the gnawing is strong enough, what is appetizing isn’t as important as what is filling and available. I learned that there are many people who spend their days feeling that sensation. Who rely on the kindness of others to alleviate that need. I benefited from that kindness.”

Cas paused, noting that Dean was staring at him now. “I learned that we are all afraid, all the time, of something, maybe nothing, maybe many things. I learned that fear can be overwhelming. I learned that cold seeps into your bones. That when you’re cold and soaked, you worry you’ll never feel warm again. I learned that urination and defecation are inconvenient and rather disgusting, for all they are a part of my father’s creation. I learned about lust and desire and sex.”

And _those_ words caught Dean’s attention. Those words caused a shocked expression and the projection of a feeling that Castiel wasn’t completely sure about, but felt almost like fear.

“Was it…” Dean cleared his throat. “Was it what you expected.”

Castiel considered the question. Gave it the thought it deserved. “It was pleasurable. And comforting. I understood more why you would seek out companionship so frequently.” Dean turned his head away at that, almost out of shame, which was not what Castiel wanted. “I _understood_ , Dean, because it allows one to forget oneself for a while. I am not condemning you. Perhaps at one time I might have, but not now. I understand the need for solace. For companionship. For comfort. I would never begrudge you that.”

Dean let out a small grunt of acknowledgment.

***

“May I ask a rather personal question?” Dean glanced over to Cas at that, then to the ceiling. “Why do you rarely seek out companions now?”

“Shit, Cas, we’ve been in purgatory. Where the hell am I supposed to get a ‘companion’?”

“Not this moment. It has been several years, even for you as you are now, since you have been…” Cas seemed to search for the proper word. “Promiscuous. At least as I understand you were before we met.”

Dean reached for the bottle again, ignoring the crease that formed between Cas’s eyes. He was not nearly drunk enough for this conversation. Two swigs later, he was willing to answer, if not ready.

“After Hell…. my head just wasn’t in the right place for it. And, well, the apocalypse took a lot of focus. Then I was with Lisa, and I don’t do cheatin’, not since high school.” Dean took another swig. “After Lisa, I just… wasn’t interested. Then you _died_ , man, and the one fucking time…”

“The one time?” Cas prompted, when Dean didn’t continue.

“Always wanted kids. You know that? Thought I might have a family some day, some how, but the older I got, the more I saw it was impossible. What am I gonna do? Stick a car seat in the back of the Impala and hunt monsters with a Baby Bjorn strapped to my chest?”

“I’m not sure I underst--” Dean didn’t let Cas finish.

“Things were good with Ben, I think I did okay for a while. But when things got rough? I didn’t know how to act. I yelled at him. I shoved him once, you know that? Lisa didn’t talk to me for a while and I don’t blame her. I could’a blamed it on being vamped up, but I’d already seen the signs, how I was turning into something I didn’t want to be with him. Then, that last time? Rescuing them? I slapped him, Cas. Even as I did it, I hated myself for doing it, and I still would’a done it again. I knew then. Knew I couldn’t be a dad.” Dean clenched his jaw, biting back his own sorrow. “There was no way I was ever gonna do that to a kid again.”

Cas waited for Dean to continue, but Dean couldn’t get his mouth around the words.

“After Lisa and Ben?” Cas prompted.

Dean took a deep breath.

“There was this woman. Just, you know, some woman in a bar. I was playing my role, charmin’ her. Left afterwards, like usual. Only thing was, I had to go back for somethin’. Turns out she wasn’t human.” Dean took another swig. “An’ she had a kid.”

“That’s not a reason to--”

“ _My_ kid, Cas! She had _my_ kid. Freakin’ Amazon woman with a freakin’ Twilight baby.” Dean took another swig. “Little girl. Named Emma.” Cas was staring at him now. Dean chuckled wryly. “She was a monster. An’ I couldn’t kill her. She was gonna kill me. Still couldn’t kill her. Sammy had to.” Dean went to take another swig, but the bottle was empty. He was tempted to throw it at the wall but resisted, placing it down gently instead.

“I’m so sorry, Dean.”

“Yeah, well. You were busy bein’ dead. Nothin’ you could’a done about it.” Dean swallowed a couple of times, feeling as if he might be sick. “After that, though... It wasn’t worth it.”

Dean closed his eyes in the ensuing silence.

***  
It was not unusual for Castiel to be at a loss for words. This time, though, it wasn’t a lack of words, but the knowledge that Dean did not want to hear them, would not believe them.

He could have said that Dean would have learned from his mistakes. That he would not have become his father. That all parents make mistakes. But Dean had always held himself to a higher standard than anyone else. He wouldn’t accept or believe that those mistakes were forgivable.

Castiel hurt for him. Hurt for the man who had given up his dreams, turned away from a life that he desperately wanted, because he could not turn away from the suffering of others. Who had lost so much, both the child he’d chosen and the one that he’d never gotten to choose. Castiel ached for the fact that his own mistakes had prevented him from being there for Dean, from being able to help him through his grief.

But… an epiphany of sorts. He wasn’t there for Dean then. He could be there for him now.

Castiel placed his book aside and stood. Dean didn’t stir. Dean finally reacted when Castiel sat on the edge of the bed. But not in the way that Castiel expected.

***  
Dean rolled away from Cas in a rush.

“What’re you doin’?”

Shit. When had he gotten so drunk?

A light blush spread over Cas’s cheeks. “I wanted to comfort you.”

A sheen of sweat broke out on Dean’s forehead and upper lip. He wiped it away with a swipe of his arm over his face. “Just. Just don’t.”

Cas tilted his head to the side, and god if that wasn’t a kick to Dean. Because his Cas hardly did that any more.

“Dean, please. Tell me what I’ve done to upset you. I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong.”

The change for Dean was almost instantaneous. He jerked farther away, almost falling off of his bed. “You didn’t _do_ anything! Christ, it’s not you, okay?!” He hadn’t meant to yell. More quietly, “it’s not you.”

“Okay,” Cas said, moving back to the chair. “But may I ask you another question?”

Dean felt weary, wary “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“What did you mean about drugs and orgies?”

And, oh, Dean was not expecting that. Cas waited, patiently as always, for Dean to find his voice. “It’s… complicated,” he finally said.

But Cas didn’t let it go. “Things in our lives usually are. Where did this idea come from? Why do you believe I would use drugs and participate in orgies?”

Dean suddenly felt every bit of his age. Both ages. All the ages. Those he’d just relived, the ones he had yet to get to, and the age he was supposed to be.

With a deep sigh and the sense that he was making a mistake, Dean said, “back before the cage. After, you know, our first last night on earth? God, man, you at that brothel, and look at you now, all experienced.” Dean snorted and Cas nodded him on. “Anyway, you’d called and told me you had a lead on the Colt, but I was tired. Said to wait until morning. But… morning was a long way off for me.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Yeah, I know you don’t. Thing is, Zachariah sent me to the future. Showed me what happened because I wouldn’t let Michael ride me.. It was,” Dean swallowed back the lump in his throat. “It was horrible, Cas. Horrible. Sam had Lucifer ridin’ him. Everyone was dead. ‘Cept you and me. And Chuck. But anyway, I get there, and you’re, like, a hippie, man. A _hippie_. You’d fallen and started taking every drug you could.” Dean couldn’t look at Cas for the next part. “When I found you, you were teaching fuckin’ yoga or some shit, and told all the girls to clean up for the _orgy_.”

When he dared a glance, Cas was looking at him in a way that Dean couldn’t decipher. “And I… I was worse man. I mean, future me was. He was ready to sacrifice you. _You_! And I think you knew that. But you just went along with it. I don’t even know what was going on. I just said, I mean future me did, that the situation between you two was screwed up. Took me a while to realize how.”

Cas didn’t say anything for the space of 10 heartbeats. “How were things between us screwed up?”

Dean didn’t want to answer. He absolutely did not want to answer. Because on one level it was acknowledging something he’d always wanted, to some degree. On another level it was showing how what he wanted was a terrible, terrible idea.

“It was the little things, ya know?” Cas didn’t know, but that wasn’t really the point. “Going into your cabin, but it wasn’t really yours. Well, it was. But it wasn’t your leather jacket on the hook. Or your boots by the door. It was,” Dean swallowed, hard. “It was my stuff there. I was the camp leader, had the nicest cabin, the best of everything. And it was your cabin too. And...” He chanced a glance at Cas, who still didn’t seem to get it. “There was _only one bed_.”

And with that Dean did something he was not proud of. He ran to the bathroom, ostensibly to vomit up some of the copious amounts of alcohol he’d ingested. But mostly to hide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at this! A quick post AND a longer chapter!
> 
> Chapter title from the song Ringfinger by Nine Inch Nails off the Pretty Hate Machine album (one of my favorites)
> 
> Sorry for the sort-of cliff hanger. Next chapter is Cas dealing with these revelations. All of them.


	24. I Can't Explain, You Would Not Understand, This is Not How I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reassurance comes in many forms.
> 
> When they use their words they understand so much more.
> 
> This could have been a "big misunderstanding" but Dean is 1000% done with this shit and is actually trying to TALK.

Castiel had seen Dean on the precipice of self-destructing many times. He could claim to have lost count, but that would be a lie. He remembered each and every time he’d witnessed Dean lose himself in a bottle, throw himself into a hunt, or run himself ragged without sleep in an effort to chase away whatever demons (both literal and figurative) were chasing him. It never became easier. An argument could be made that it became worse each and every time.

Castiel himself had been on the edge of his own madness before. Helpless and hopeless. Even then, to some degree he always knew that he had Sam and Dean on his side. It had been a source of comfort when little else was. He had always assumed that Dean felt the same way, that he knew that through any and all obstacles, Castiel would be there for him in any way he could. What had never occurred to him, never crossed his mind, never flitted through the vast expanse of celestial wavelength of his true form, was the idea that Dean didn’t _want_ him there.

Even now he had some difficulty accepting the idea. After all, Dean had expressly said _"I need you.”_ Which, for a Winchester, was as close to a blatant declaration of familial love as had ever been. Even removing that from the equation, even assuming that was said in the throes of emotional turmoil in an attempt to appeal to Castiel’s own feelings, there was Castiel’s coat. The coat that Dean had rescued and carried with him for the better part of a year. The coat that had stayed with Dean when almost nothing else of his life had.

But… Ah, and here Castiel had a glimmer of understanding. Dean needed him. Dean cared. That was clear. What Dean had never done, however, not until this spell, was express any interest in Castiel that was of a romantic or sexual nature. Nothing beyond familial. Castiel’s eyebrows drew in, a distinct frown. He’d explained to Dean that his tumultuous feelings were due to the spell. It was natural that Dean, as a young man with a different perspective on his life, would see Castiel in a different way. Castiel was comfortable with that because it so neatly aligned with his own desires. He hadn’t considered how that would affect Dean -- his Dean.

For his Dean, Zachariah’s macabre bastardization of reality was again a possibility. One he did not want.

***

As much as Castiel was usually inclined to give Dean space, he was not in the mood. Not today. Dean didn’t seem very surprised when Castiel appeared over his shoulder, he merely finished the ritual of brushing his teeth. Castiel waited impatiently, though he was certain he showed no outward signs of it. Dean wouldn’t meet his eyes in the mirror, refused to look at him. Looked for all the world as if he might be sick again. Without thinking, without a conscious decision, Castiel reached out (he would ignore that flinch) to heal him -- eliminating any lingering drunkenness and physical discomfort. He lamented the fact, once again, that he could not so easily heal Dean’s emotional discomfort.

Dean stood completely still, not a single movement, not even a breath, for a fraction of a second. Then, without a word, he walked off, leaving Castiel to follow him. Dean laid out on the bed, draped his arm over his eyes, subconsciously hiding from Castiel’s gaze.

Castiel took his own seat.

His chair. 

The one that he was certain that Dean had placed there solely for his use. He clasped his hands between his knees and closed his eyes, taking a moment to say a silent prayer.

He clung to what little faith he had, and asked for guidance in navigating this particular minefield. So that he could give Dean the comfort, solace, and support he needed without hurting him more. It wasn’t that he believed his father was listening. He hoped, but didn’t believe anymore.

“Whatever world you were shown,” he finally said, mouthing each word carefully, “that is not what came to be. Sam is not being used as Lucifer’s vessel. The apocalypse did not come to pass. You _know_ this.”

Castiel took a deep breath. “It wasn’t the future. It was a construct that Zachariah created to manipulate you. It was designed to shock you and horrify you, to convince you that terrible things would happen if you did not give in. Everything that he showed you was to feed into your fears.

“I cannot speak to what may come. I cannot predict the future. I can, however, make a promise to you.” At this Dean pulled his arm away and raised his head to look at Castiel, who faced him, earnest and honest. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

Dean opened his mouth slightly, perhaps to speak, but Castiel refused to let him. He needed Dean to know that he was _safe_. Castiel unclasped his hands and sat up straighter, speaking with every ounce of power he could convey, short of using his true voice. “Our relationship will never be more or less than what _you_ want and need it to be. I swear this to you, Dean.”

Castiel had made so few promises to Dean during the time that they had known each other. The most he’d ever really been able to offer was his best efforts to achieve what Dean wanted. In this, however, his voice rang with angelic certainty.

***

Dean covered his face again, felt the wash of Cas’s words pass over him, soothing and intangible. The surety and strength of will urging him to believe.  
“You weren’t you anymore. Cas.” Dean felt like the words were coming out without his conscious control, like they were words that had long needed to be said. “You weren’t you and it was because of me.”

Cas didn’t say anything.

“You know what Sammy said to me? Well, Lucifer wearing a Sam suit. He said _‘whatever you do, you will always end up here. No matter what choices you make, whatever details you alter, **we** will always end up here.’_ ” Dean cringed at the words, remembering every one, remembering how Sam looked, with Lucifer’s pity shining in his eyes. His stomach roiled and he thought he might be sick again.

“You have already changed that future, Dean. You will never have to face that again. Those weren’t even Lucifer’s words. Those were Zachariah’s words. You should not let those words change what you want. You should not feel obligated to fulfill the image that you saw. I will say it again, Dean. Our relationship will never be more than you want it to be.”

Dean swallowed, hard, his throat so tight it was near choking him. He could leave it at this. He could allow Cas to think this way. They could move on from this. Go back to normal. As they had his first time around. But he had all of these new memories clouding his head. He had nights of Cas holding him. Touches and words, and a brush of lips in the dark. And his chest ached.

“What if…” he whispered, refusing to look at Cas. “What if I… I _want_ more?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd. 
> 
> I AM SO SORRY. I thought I'd have a bit more time when the kids started back to school, but health problems have interfered.
> 
> I WILL continue this and I AM working on it! Promise!
> 
> Thanks for all your patience and for sticking with it. :) I am genuinely overwhelmed by the response


	25. Surrender, Surrender, But Don't Give Yourself Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings are hard. That is all.

Everyone knew Dean didn’t do feelings. He had talked more about them to Cas since this spell than he had to anyone else, ever. Then he’d just had to go and drop the biggest damn feeling into the mix. And Cas said nothing.

The widening of his eyes would have been comical if Dean were in any mood to laugh. The last time he’d seen Cas look like that was at the prospect of getting laid. Which, okay, no. Dean wasn’t really sure what he meant by “more,” but it wasn’t to jump his bones or something. He wasn’t even sure if he could... no. He just wanted… _more_.

“Cas, calm down! Jesus Christ, I’m not going to--” He swung his legs off the side of the bed, not even ashamed at the fact that he was going to run away. Again.

“Don’t go.”

Dean looked to Cas out of the corner of his eye, not sure if he wanted to risk trying to face him full on right now. Cas still looked somewhat panicked, but at least he wasn’t wearing an expression of sheer terror anymore. Dude had not just faced down death at the hands of Lucifer himself, but had _actually died_ , and yet Dean’s feelings sent him into a full blown freak out? Dean snorted to himself. “You’re worse about this chick-flick crap than I am.” He considered that. “And that’s sayin’ something.”

Okay, so Dean probably deserved the look he got for that.

“I’m trying, Dean.”

Dean’s shoulders slumped forward in defeat. “I know you are.” He closed his eyes on a sigh. “I know you are.”

***  
Castiel’s heart was beating rapidly. Despite this body being his own, he was still unused to its responses. He hadn’t meant to panic. He’d been so afraid, so worried that he was going to say or do the wrong thing, which meant that he _had_ done the wrong thing.

He unclenched his hands and took a very deep, but unneeded, breath.

“What would make you think that I have any greater understanding of human emotions than you do?” Castiel couldn’t help the slight irritation that seeped into his words. He was trying. Couldn’t Dean see that?

“Do you remember when you were planning on allowing Michael to use you as his vessel?”

Dean looked to Castiel and then away. “Yeah.”

Castiel’s hands clenched up again. “I was… so angry with you. So incredibly angry.”

Dean snorted at that. “I kinda noticed.” Castiel wondered if Dean was even aware that he reached up and touched his own cheek.

“That emotion was so new to me. So foreign. I had so little experience with emotions, and I was… overwhelmed by it.” Castiel flinched. “I’m sorry for injuring you.” Dean brushed his hand through the air, dismissing Castiel’s apology. “I had no idea that emotions could be so powerful. So substantial. That they could take over rational thought.” He paused. “No, that’s not true. I knew that it was possible; I’d seen it happen throughout all of humanity. But I had never experienced it. Never felt it, and so didn’t understand it the way a human would.

“That was the first time I had truly _felt_.” Castiel consciously unclenched his hands again, but what came out next was almost unintentional, whispered without thought. “You’ve always made me feel.”

***

Dean thought he might throw up again. “Should I be apologizing?”

Cas looked up at him, eyes still so wide, so bright, like he could see into Dean’s damn soul. Dean’s jaw clenched.

“It wasn’t a bad thing. To feel. I’ve just never known what to do with those emotions. I still don’t.”

Dean wished he were closer. He didn’t know what he’d do, but the desire to reach out and touch Cas, to comfort him, was near overwhelming.

As if Cas understood, as if he could sense Dean’s need, he came over to sit next to Dean. Dean sat very still, as if any movement would cause Cas to fly off.

“If you want…” Cas cleared his throat. “If you want more, then why were you so horrified by the thought of us being,” Cas seemed to be choosing his words carefully, “lovers?”

Dean could feel his face heating, the warmth spreading down his neck and chest, pooling low in his gut.

“It wasn’t us being…” Christ, Dean couldn’t even say it. “It wasn’t that. It’s just, like I said, you weren’t _you_. If… I’m… what caused that…” Why were these words so hard to get out? Dean’s hands clenched and he wanted to punch something. This was important. He knew this was important. But the words just weren’t coming. “I can’t let that happen,” he finally settled for saying.

“It won’t. We know it won’t. It was never our reality.” Cas reached out. Instead of clasping his shoulder like Dean expected, Cas wrapped his hand around the back of Dean’s neck, gradually drawing Dean’s face closer. Dean watched, eyes crossing as Cas got closer.

For one fleeting moment, he was certain that Cas was going to kiss him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. It was both a relief and a disappointment when Cas simply touched his forehead to Dean’s, looking at him through his lashes. Cas’s eyes seemed huge. All knowing and unfathomable in that moment. Eyes that seemed other-worldly, because they _were _other-worldly. Eyes that always, always, saw beyond the surface. Eyes that had seen the dawning of creation and every step in between. And those eyes were focused on Dean as if Dean were the very center of… _everything_.__

Dean felt Cas’s thumb rub gently at his neck, a soothing gesture, a gentle touch from someone who held power and destruction and light in his hands. Hands that had hurt and healed, that had carried Dean out of torment and torture and literal hell, brought him back to life, in every sense of the expression. Soothing and convincing in their strength.

“We will make our own future, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa. Can you believe it? I can't believe it. I don't have to say I'm sorry!
> 
> (This isn't done, BTW. Still a few more chapters. Probably will wind up an even 30. Not positive yet.)
> 
> Chapter title taken from the song Surrender by Cheap Trick.


	26. I Don’t Know Where I’m Going, but I Sure Know Where I’ve Been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean's first method of coping, avoidance, is actually more a reassurance than anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to change the tags to reflect that this is basically now an AU. My desire to do so sort of started once I learned about their safe word for recognizing each other at the beginning of season 9, and continued once Metatron did his funky hand wave thing in Meta Fiction. With that in mind, this will probably end at an AU'd season 11 point, rather than trying to "fix" all the jossing that the show has done.

And then, because Sammy was nothing if not a cock-block (even when there was no cock-type-things actually going on, just to be clear) there was a knock at the door.

“Uh, Dean?” Sam’s voice was hesitant, lilting upward at the end. He cleared his throat. “I made lunch, if you’re up for it.”

Cas let his hand fall from Dean’s neck, which Dean thought was rather a shame.

“Yeah. Sure, Sammy. Give me a minute.”

Cas was staring at Dean, leaving him to feel a bit self-conscious. He sat still, allowing Cas to look. It felt like he owed him that. Whatever Cas needed to see in him, whatever he needed to get from him, Dean would try to give it. He only wished he weren’t running blind here.

The moment was broken by the sound of Sammy’s footsteps, when Cas looked to the door. Dean felt his shoulders drop. He could finally look away.

Cas hadn’t said anything more, and Dean wasn’t sure if he should try to fill the silence. It felt heavy, unnatural, like there were words that should be said, but he wasn’t the one who was supposed to say them. He felt like he had to follow Cas’s lead on this. Like what happened next needed to be Cas’s decision.

Dean had laid so much of himself bare. Exposed so much of his heart. He needed to draw back in, to curl up, to protect the soft, near-delicate center that he wouldn’t even admit to having.

Because this had the potential to hurt him worse than any torture he had ever endured.

***

Lunch was… not as awkward as Sam thought it would be.

That’s not to say it wasn’t awkward.

Cas spent most of the time staring at Dean. Dean spent most of the time staring at his food and pointedly ignoring Cas’s looks. Until he’d glance up, catch Cas’s eye and look down again, a blush starting at his neck and climbing upward. If Sam weren’t so mature (he was, shut up, Dean) he would have teased Dean about acting like a thirteen year old girl with a crush.

But that might cause Dean to retreat, just when he and Cas were apparently getting somewhere.

Finally.

So while Dean was ignoring Cas, Sam was ignoring both of them, and lunch was extremely quiet. Sam was going to lock himself in his room after this. Throw a set of headphones on. Put the music on loud. Let them sort it out on their own.

***  
Castiel was having a difficult time taking his eyes off of Dean. Dean on any given day was a lovely sight, but now, well, Castiel could admit to himself that there was something extra special about him today. Something that was calling to Castiel, telling him that all of the amazing qualities of Dean were somehow, inexplicably… for him. It hardly made sense, but Castiel was just selfish enough to not care.

Castiel had felt a degree of possessiveness since the moment Grace met Soul in the bleakness of Hell. For years after, when he saw his mark on Dean’s shoulder he felt responsibility and some other, then unnamed sensation, that Castiel now recognized as a combination of pride and possessiveness. The sense that Dean was his in some way. That changed from charge to friend to family over time. Castiel had tried to let Dean go, to remove that mark and release that claim. A pointless gesture, he now realized, as he felt something else, something new, mixed in with those previous emotions. Whatever it was, and Castiel was pretty sure he had figured it out, it was more than charge, more than friend, more than family. It was overwhelming and awesome and consuming. The idea that Dean might feel some of that as well, some fraction of that toward Castiel, was almost impossible to comprehend.

Hence Castiel’s difficulty in taking his eyes off of Dean. For fear that this was an illusion, and would disappear like so much else in Castiel’s existence. Drift away into an ephemeral mist of barely remembered touches and softly spoken words. Castiel wasn’t sure he could survive its loss.

***

Dean watched Sammy disappear down the hall with some vague comment about music and headphones. He pointedly did not look at Cas as he rinsed his plate and loaded the dishwasher. He pointedly did not look at Cas as he wiped down the counter a bit. He pointedly did not look at Cas. He never claimed to be mature.

When he couldn’t dawdle over dishes any longer, he glanced over to Cas then back, then slipped out of the kitchen with another quick, almost pleading glance over his shoulder. He didn’t run, no, he didn’t, but he did walk quickly back to his room, hoping and yet not hoping that Cas wouldn’t follow.

***  
It was kind of a given that almost everyone who meets him falls just a little bit in love with Dean Winchester. It couldn’t really be helped. For all his faults, and there were many, Dean was a remarkable person; a remarkably good person.

It was kind of a given, as well, that Dean did not fall in love easily. While his bed partners may have been numerous, the number of people he actually loved could be counted on his fingers. Probably on one hand if the only ones counted were those still alive. Which was heartbreaking, but yet another reason why Dean did not fall in love easily.

Castiel didn’t have the best grasp of human nature, despite his observance of them for all of his existence, but he liked to think that he understood Dean fairly well. Dean was, to use the turn of phrase, “running scared” and he needed time to process all that had happened.

Because what had happened was that Dean had opened himself, his heart and his soul, to Castiel. And while Castiel had just moments before been harboring a niggling fear that Dean would take back his revelations, change his heart and mind, his flight was, instead a reassurance.

With a small smile on his face, Castiel retreated to the library and left Dean to his thoughts.

***

Several hours later there was a small knock on the door frame of the library. Castiel looked up from his book to see Dean in a robe, freshly showered, looking nervous.

"You comin' to bed, Cas?"

Castiel could tell how much that one question cost Dean. The fear of rejection all but pouring out of him. Castiel stood, placing his book on the nearby table.

"Yes, Dean."

Things would be better in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY. Really and truly.
> 
> I cannot believe it's taken me so long to post more. In the past months, among many other and sundry things that have happened, I've had to have surgery after losing the use of my right (dominant) arm. I'm doing better. AND I look like someone tried to slice my throat. So... bonus?
> 
> I'll say again that I WILL finish this. I have the ending almost ready and there's not much more left. :)
> 
> I'm going to be at the DC Supernatural convention in a couple of weeks, if anyone else is going. I'll be at the daytime and evening events and would love to have company.
> 
> Title taken from the song Here I Go Again by Whitesnake.


	27. I Figured it Out, What I Needed was Someone to Show Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place over the afternoon from the previous chapter. Contains some spoilers for season 10. It also assumes that certain events are not permanent, as they usually aren’t, and this is an AU at this point anyway. I had planned this part early on, and then they Jossed the shit out of it, and well… I don’t know how to change it to anything else. So I’m not gonna. I should have known better, though. I just didn’t think they’d have the balls to piss off the fans that much. That said, if we want to express our displeasure about this to TPTB, then we need to send emails or snail mail. Kim Rhodes said that they do NOT read tweets.

The ceiling had no useful insight to give. It hadn’t when he was shitfaced, and it wasn’t doing any better when he was sober.

Dean missed his mom and dad sometimes. Well, no, Dean pretty much missed them all the time. He mostly missed his dad when he was trying to figure out the best way to handle a hunt; when he wasn’t sure the right way of approaching a witness; when he wasn’t one hundred percent sure that what he thought might be a case was actually a case; when Sam was being an ass and he didn’t want to have to deal with him. Whatever. He knew where he stood with his dad, for good or ill. When he was about to make a poor decision he could hear his dad’s voice telling him he was being an idiot. That usually didn’t stop him, but he could hear it.

Dean knew his dad. Had decades of memories with him. He had a good handle on what his dad thought of him, even if what he thought of him wasn’t very much. But Dean didn’t know his mom, not really, didn’t have years and years of living in each other’s pockets to get to understand her personality. Would she have liked Dean? Would she have been proud of him? Would she have had good advice for him, like the moms on TV always seemed to? The not knowing, the loss of what _might_ have been, was harder, in many ways, than the tangible loss of someone he knew well.

Dean was pretty sure his mom would have liked Cas. He’d like to think she would have loved and accepted anyone who treated him right. Plus, Cas was pretty likable. But Dean didn’t really know, could only guess. She had seemed like a pretty open-minded kid. Which caused him to laugh to himself, because who could even say things like that? It was fucking absurd, but he’d known more about his mom as a teenager than he did about her when she was his mom.

As much as he hated to think it, Dean was kind of glad, though, that his dad wasn’t around. Because Dean was fairly certain his dad wouldn’t accept… him. Oh, it wasn’t that John was particularly homophobic. John didn’t much care what anyone else did, actually. But Dean just couldn’t picture John accepting him as anything other than straight. The idea of admitting he… wasn’t, out loud to his dad made Dean feel itchy. It took him half his life to admit it in his own head.

Sam would be okay with it all. Dean couldn’t imagine that Sam, with his Stanford ideals, would care what Dean did with his own dick. He liked Cas and Cas liked him. 

Bobby… Bobby wouldn’t have blinked an eye. Bobby would have looked at Dean, then looked at Cas, then asked them what the hell they were asking _him_ for. Dean smiled at that. Bobby would have been cool. And that helped. It really did. To know that there was one person out there who would have completely accepted Dean the way he was, any way he was. Goddamnit, he missed Bobby.

Dean felt twitchy. He wished he had someone to talk to. Who the hell would he talk to, though? Did he know any gay people? Hell, did he even have any _friends_? It was kind of pathetic, but Cas was pretty much the only one. He dug his phone out of his pocket, knowing there wasn’t anyone to call, but, admittedly kind of hoping there was, too.

This phone was newer than the one he was used to. Than he had in his time. Than he remembered. Goddamn it was confusing. The point being that he wasn’t used to it. Wasn’t too hard to figure out, though. He brought up his text messages, feeling almost like he was snooping, which was just stupid, because it’s not like he could really snoop on himself. But it kind of _was_ snooping, on his future self, and…

He was distracted by a name. Huh. There was a long string of messages and Dean scrolled through some of them, a smile drawing out on his face.

***

Dean was just about to hang up when the phone was answered on the fourth ring.

“ _DEAN!_ ”

“Hey. Hi. How, how are you doing?” Smooth, Winchester.

“What kind of trouble have you been getting into?”

He cleared his throat just a little. “Oh, you know. Same-old same-old.” And if _that_ wasn’t a bold-faced lie…

“Do not lie to your Queen. I know that tone of voice.”

Dean blinked twice. “Queen?”

There was a long pause. Dean pulled the phone from his ear just to check if there was still connection, before putting it back again. “Hello?”

“Who are you and what have you done with Dean?”

***

Charlie was taking this a lot better than he thought she would.

“So… You’re you, but you’ve been de-aged.” It wasn’t said like a question, but it clearly was.

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say? _Huh_?” He didn’t know whether to be hurt or impressed.

“It’s not like this is the first time.”

Dean blinked twice again. “What.” And that was another non-question.

“Never mind. What can I do for you?”

Dean considered pushing for answers, but then decided he really didn’t want to know.

“I don’t know. I just,” he could feel himself blushing. “I just wanted someone to talk to who isn’t my brother or…”

“Or Cas?”

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

“Hm.”

And damn if her tone of voice wasn’t too knowing. Belatedly he wondered if he’d talked to her about this before. Well. That could be awkward.

Before Dean could formulate an appropriate response, Charlie pushed ahead herself, in a way Dean was beginning to suspect she always would.

“So when are you?”

Dean barked out a laugh. "You realize how screwed up our lives are that that even makes sense?"

“Your life, bucko. Your life.” Charlie made a small, considering sound. “And sometimes mine. But that’s beside the point!” she said in an excited rush.

Dean liked the feel of the smile on his face, but it dropped as he answered her question. “Purgatory.”

“Oh.” Pause. “It… gets better?”

“You don’t sound very sure about that.”

“Yes and no, you know? That’s life. Sometimes you go to Oz with Dorothy, sometimes your dead body’s left in a bathtub for no particular reason. Shit happens.”

Dean had a feeling this was another one of those things that he didn’t want to know about right now, even with the pang of worry and guilt he usually only associated with Sammy. Stupid little sister he never wanted. “You’re doing okay, though?”

“Sure! Kicking ass. Sometimes literally, sometimes figuratively. What about you? How’s your second childhood going?”

Dean draped his hand over his eyes and thought back over the last couple of days. “Oh, you know. Accidentally revealing life-long secrets, getting possessed by a demon, kissing your best friend…” The last he said under his breath.

“ _WHAT?!_ ”

Okay, clearly not under his breath enough.

“You _KISSED CAS?!_ ”

His face felt on fire. “It was… Not an accident, really.” Charlie snorted at that. “I was young and stupid, okay?”

That brought out a full laugh. “So you’re saying you _wouldn't_ otherwise kiss Cas?”

Dean scowled at no one and nothing in particular. “Hasn’t happened before.”

Charlie suddenly sounded quiet and serious. “Well, why not?”

“He’s Cas. He’s,” Dean stumbled over what to say. “He’s my friend. He’s like family.”

“Sure, okay. But what _kind_ of family is the question.”

And wasn’t that the truth. He definitely wasn’t Sam. Or even Charlie. No matter what Chuck’s fans seemed to think, Dean did not see Sam the same way. Dean felt his breathing quicken.

“Dean, it’s okay.”

“Right.” His breathing was still quick and he could feel panic setting in. Again. “He’s an _angel_ , Charlie. He’s my _friend_.”

Her voice was gentler and kinder than he could ever remember hearing it when she said, “I know. And he loves you.”

Dean laughed. “You know that how exactly?

“You think you’re the only person he talks to?”

That certainly caught Dean off guard. Cas talked to Charlie? About _him_? “He _told_ you that?”

“I won’t say one way or another, but I will say that some things are obvious even without words. Also, I read Chuck’s books.”

Dean groaned. “Damnit, Chuck.”

“You know you go full-frontal in those, right?”

“ _Yes_ , Charlie, I know.”

“I mean, I’m not into dudes, but daaayum.” There was nothing but affection in her teasing tone.

And she probably did that just for the reaction she got, which was surprised laughter that served to soothe Dean’s fraying nerves.

“Look, if you don’t want to kiss Cas again, then write it off as a youthful indiscretion. I’m sure he’ll be willing to forget about it. But…” She paused, and Dean held his breath waiting for what she might say. “You _do_ want to. Don’t you?”

Dean let out a long exhale. “I…” His words caught in his throat. It was hard enough to admit something like this to himself, let alone Charlie. Let alone Cas.

“It’s okay, Dean. You don’t have to tell me. You just have to figure it out for yourself. He’ll still be there for you no matter what. So will Sam and I.”

Just like that, Dean felt like a weight was being lifted. It wasn’t absolution, it was acceptance. “Thanks, Charlie. Really.”

“Aw, you’re welcome!” Charlie said playfully. Which Dean appreciated.

“Okay, so tell me what we’ve been up to. Queen?”

***

When Dean sought Cas out that night, he knew it wasn’t for anything more than it had been the nights before. But he had the future on his mind. A future that maybe included a lot more Cas in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really hoping to finish this by the end of the month. Don't hold me to that, but I'm going to try!
> 
> Chapter title from the song Lost In Love by Air Supply
> 
> I had a blast at the convention in DC. I look like utter shit in this photo (thanks, steroids, for the wattle), but here I am with Misha Collins: 
> 
> http://36.media.tumblr.com/c48cbd421ffa3cb73a717f89c274e452/tumblr_ns2qgvPDS71qjt8r3o1_500.jpg
> 
> I made him kale infused coconut scented organic lip balm -- in a penis lip balm holder. It has a prince albert style keychain "piercing" and mobile foreskin. He told me later that he was using the lip balm. :)
> 
> Rumor has it that he was photobombing other people WITH the penis. If anyone has seen this, I would appreciate a link to it!


	28. If You Wanted Honesty that's All You Had to Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little acceptance goes a long way

Dean was finally getting the hang of the time jumps. He was still panicked, stressed, and disoriented as fuck for a few moments after waking. But it wasn’t the shock to his system, the rush of fear-fueled adrenaline, that it had been on other days, and it passed quickly. The fact that Cas was pressed up against his back with his arm over Dean’s waist was probably helping. It was easier to crush down the worry with Cas’s warmth surrounding him, Cas’s scent (ozone and electricity, the charge in the air before a storm) in his nose, and Cas’s warm, even puffs of breath on the back of his neck. Less easy to tamp down were his _reactions_ to those, but he somehow managed.

“Good morning, Dean.”

Cas’s voice wasn’t sleep roughened, just the same deep reverberation it had always been, but Dean closed his eyes to it, overwhelmed by the mish-mash of emotions it called forth. Dean put his hand over Cas’s, resting them together on his hip, and he felt a slight hitch in the breath at his neck. It was gratifying that such a simple thing had a noticeable affect on Cas, but it also ratcheted up Dean’s panic.

“Takin’ a few liberties there?” Dean’s voice _was_ sleep roughened, Deep and a little slower than usual. Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about Cas taking liberties. No, that wasn’t right -- he liked it. He just wasn’t sure how to feel about liking it.

Cas tensed his arm, making to roll away but Dean didn’t let go. It was difficult for him to ask for closeness or comfort. Cas knew that, though, knew Dean, so he relaxed, sparing Dean from having to do either.

“When are you?” Warm puffs of air again, punctuating each word.

Dean let out a huff of a laugh. “No time good.” An understatement.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s kinda like a vacation from all the shit that’s going down.” It really was, too. It was like finding out that your favorite character _doesn't_ die at the end of the book. Sam was still there. Cas was still there. They’d come out the other side. Didn’t much matter how they got there, not to him, not now. Maybe future-Dean cared, but this Dean was just happy to be alive.

And that. That gave Dean pause. Because he genuinely _was_ glad to be alive. Glad to be laying in a comfortable bed, in a place he could call home, on good terms with Sam, with Cas pressed against him. It wasn’t that Dean was suicidal or anything. It was more that for so long he just hadn’t cared much whether he lived or died. Hadn’t cared much about anything. The crushing sense of hopelessness that sometimes overwhelmed him was, at least temporarily, abated. It was... nice. And wasn’t that just even more kinds of fucked up? That not feeling hopeless was a pleasant change? Eh. He’d take what he could get.

“What about you, Cas? You all right?”

Cas pulled his arm tighter, a gentle hug, the smile evident in his tone. “Surprisingly,” he paused, “I find that I’m doing well.”

“Heh. Well, glad to hear it.” And he was. He kind of felt a little proud, too, because he was pretty sure that he had something to do with it. ‘Bout time he could make Cas’s life better instead of harder.

***  
Sam had just come back from his morning run, sweaty but invigorated. He was enjoying scrolling through some news sites, drinking a glass of juice, and eating some buttered toast when Cas and Dean wandered in, bickering good-naturedly about who made the better Batman.

“Michael Keaton, man! The right mix of suave and funny.”

Cas disagreed. “Adam West’s Batman had a Robin. The two of them as a team were more effective than Batman on his own.”

Sam snorted, and two heads turned to him in curiosity. He shook his head, not wanting to explain. Of course Cas put importance on a side-kick. After all, wasn’t he basically Dean’s side-kick? Then Sam had to stifle an outright laugh, imagining Cas in a Robin costume.

Dean gave him stink-eye until Sam was able to compose himself.

Sam went back to his reading, tuning them out until Dean plopped down into the seat across from him with a bowl of cereal and a pressing silence. Sam blinked up at him, refocusing on Dean’s deliberately nonchalant expression. Cas was no longer in the room.

Sam was a patient man. Dean rushed in, all impulsive decisions, but Sam was contemplative. He liked to watch something unfold, rather than trying to unfold it himself. It was obvious Dean wanted to talk and given his reticence, it was apparently going to involve _feelings_. Best to let Dean chew on it until he would be responsive to Sam. So he waited, sipping his juice, considering Dean with a practiced eye. So he waited, swiped to a new page. So he waited, taking a bite of toast.

Finally.

“So…”

Sam looked up expectantly. Something of his knowledge must have shown on his face, because Dean seemed to shore up a bit.

“Are we going to talk about this?”

Sam almost laughed. “Do you _want_ to talk about this?”

Dean scowled. “No.”

The smile came unbidden. “Then no. Except…” A pause. “I’m happy for you, Dean.”

Dean’s scowl got deeper. “Yeah, whatever,” he said with a mutter, clearly trying to hide his embarrassment.

Sam smiled wider.

And, in manly Winchester fashion, that was all it took.

***  
When Castiel came back a few hours later, he immediately noticed a difference in Dean. He seemed more calm. More centered. He greeted Castiel with a smile. Castiel wasn’t sure what had changed, but any change for the positive was one he was okay with.

They worked on cars in the garage, sipping beer and talking about nothing of import. Castiel understood the engineering of the vehicle, but he let Dean explain it all anyway. The words washed over him in a pleasant shower of acceptance, camaraderie, and friendship. And today, even a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... really am very sorry. I have been very, very sick. I'm still sick. Not sure what's going on. No one's really sure what's wrong with me. And this year has just been kind of hard. I've recently lost (through moving) a lot of my support system, too, so when not utterly physically exhausted, I'm often emotionally and mentally exhausted, too.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm still thinking 2 more, to end on chapter 30.
> 
> I'm no longer making promises about when I will finish this. I WILL finish it, though.
> 
> I'm going to be going back through and changing a few chapter titles. For no other reason than I've come up with some that fit prior chapters and I like them better than what I've already chosen.
> 
> Chapter title taken from the song I’m Not Okay (I Promise) by My Chemical Romance. (Thank you emo teenage daughter!)
> 
> Wanted to give more of an explanation, since I know it is hard to understand....
> 
> In the past year or so I've had 2 back surgeries. I've also gotten progressively sicker with some as-yet-undiagnosed ailment. It's to the point where simply moving hurts. I can't walk without dizziness and feeling like I'm going to pass out. I am no longer able to knit or crochet, painting and drawing is near impossible, and writing and typing genuinely physically hurts. Every joint in my body hurts. I've had 2 MRIs (and have another scheduled), 2 x-rays, and I'm pretty sure they've taken 2/3 of my blood. The toll something like that takes on one's emotional state is a heavy one, and it's made it difficult to focus on most things. I'm even pretty far behind on the show. If any of you have any ideas of what might be wrong with me, I'm more than open to them. It's not lyme disease, POTS, a thyroid or hormonal issue, and it's not arthritis.
> 
> My daughter was having an extremely hard time starting around November, suffering from panic attacks and anxiety, and it took a lot to get her through the school year. Someone called CPS on us because my 11 year old autistic, ADHD, SPD son is *sometimes dirty.* Thankfully their investigation was closed and we were cleared.
> 
> On a bright note, I did manage to do 11 GISHWHES items this year. Yay for percocet! Boo for building up a tolerance so it barely works/ I just really wanted to do compete again. Not sure it was worth the literal days of recovery time.
> 
> About 2 hours after I posted this, while my daughter was having oral surgery, I was in a car accident (that was my fault, natch). And to top it all off... I lost my shoe. (Well, my flip-flop broke, but you get what I mean.) That's about what this whole year has been like.
> 
> So, really and truly, I'm not just putting things off. This has been a very hard time for me and my family, and we're struggling through.
> 
> Thanks, all of you, for your kindness and understanding.


	29. Take My Hand and We’ll Make it I Swear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The grand story. And we ripped up the ending, and the rules, and destiny, leaving nothing but freedom and choice."

Dean leaned back against the workbench, wiped the grease off his hands with a worn blue rag, and eyed his latest project. It was a vintage BMW roadster. Not an American classic, but it was still a beauty. All long, smooth, graceful lines and power. The garage had AC, but even so his hair was sticking every which way from sweat and where he’d run his hand through, spreading grease into it like gel.

“Probably runs better than new now,” he said, a considerable amount of satisfaction coloring his tone.

Cas made a noncommittal noise. He wasn’t even looking at Dean. Dean opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but for some reason he hesitated. He looked at Cas, really looked at him, studying his typically inscrutable face. Dean had started to think that after so long he was getting a sense of how to read Cas’s expressions and mannerisms. Clearly not.

Even after he lapsed into silence, Cas didn’t look over. Didn’t say a word. As he was so often wont to do, Dean began to second guess… well… everything. What had happened, where he thought they were, where he thought they were going. Despite feeling residual embarrassment, he replayed the morning, their earlier discussion, softly spoken words that seemed to promise something bigger, something _more._

But maybe… maybe Dean was reading more into it than he should. Maybe his own wants and needs were coloring his understanding of what had happened. Maybe… His good mood vanished, replaced with a fight-or-flight instinct that left him nervous and more than a little bit scared.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean finally dared. Cas turned to look at him, appearing neither happy to speak with him or annoyed at having his thoughts interrupted. Dean hesitated again. Cas was patient, as he always was with Dean. He didn’t push Dean to continue. He _seemed_ normal. But what did Dean know, really?

“You never…” Another hesitation. “When we spoke earlier?”

Cas waited for 5 heartbeats before responding. “Yes?” Then waited five more before prompting, “about earlier?”

Dean realized his hesitation was solely for his own selfish reasons. He didn’t want to ask what he knew he _had_ to ask. Because if the answer was different than what he... hoped, it would be crushing. Crushing, and yet something he’d have to get over. He kind of hated himself for his hesitation. _Man up, Winchester._ He straightened his shoulders and powered on, because it was all he knew how to do.

“Look, Cas, there’re no…” He trailed off again, then took a big breath. “There are no expectations here. You know that, right? Just because we, uh, talked about something, that doesn’t mean anything has to happen.” Dean knew his face was on fire but he couldn’t help it.

Cas blinked, two, maybe three times at him. “Yes,” he said slowly, drawing it out in a way that Dean knew Cas had picked up from him and Sam.

Dean took another large breath. “It’s just… I know what you said, about-- about it being up to me? What our. Um. How things would be. Between us, I mean.” God, he was a mess, wasn’t he? “But the thing is, Cas…” Cas still looked patient. As always, waiting for Dean to get his shit together. “The thing is…” Dean made himself open his mouth. Open his mouth and force the words out, because whatever else he was, he _wasn't_ that kind of guy. Dean wouldn’t hold Cas to something just because it was what _he_ wanted. “The same goes for you. This… us… we’ll never be anything you don’t want. You got that?”

Cas looked confused for a moment. Then he kind of looked a little angry. Then he looked sad. “I understand, Dean. Why are you concerned about this?” Cas sounded like he already knew the answer, which was news to Dean, because he’d only just figured it out.

“Because you have a _choice,_ Cas.” Dean was a little angry now, too. “I know what it’s like, okay? I know what it’s like to have no choice.” Dean actually shuddered with the revulsion of it. The sensation of _wanting,_ yet knowing he didn’t, not really, but that he couldn’t stop it. Because it was what someone _else_ wanted and they had the power to compel him. The remembered feeling alone was enough to make him continue, no matter what Cas’s answer might be. “You listen to me,” he said, vehemently, gripping Cas’s upper arm tightly, heedless of the grease on his hands, the dirt under his nails. “You have a choice. You _always_ have a choice.”

Cas’s brows furrowed and he reached up, touching Dean’s hand. Dean loosened his grip and started to pull his hand away, stopped by Cas’s touch. He stood completely still, allowing Cas to take his hand, to stretch out the fist that Dean had unintentionally made. Cas rested Dean’s palm onto his, not holding it, just resting it there.

***  
Castiel stared at Dean’s hand. A strong hand, covered in scars and callouses and showing its years of use. That had inflicted untold violence and yet could be utterly gentle as well. That Castiel had remade, the bones and tendons and fingerprints he had stitched back together, every atom one he had touched and coaxed and molded into shape. He curled his fingers gently around Dean’s hand, allowed to touch in a way he never was before.

At first his voice came out softly, a contrast to Dean’s rough declaration. “Hester once said that from the moment I first laid a hand on you in Hell, I was lost.” Castiel looked up, gripping tighter as Dean made to pull away. “She was right, you know.” Dean flinched and tried again to pull back. “She was wrong about why, though. I _was_ lost to them. But not because you corrupt or had corrupted me. Rather, when I laid a hand on you in Hell, I was freed.”

Dean was no longer looking at him. Castiel turned their hands over, resting Dean’s palm up this time. He placed his other hand atop them, clutching Dean’s tightly between his own.

“You are not compelling me, Dean. You are not forcing me. You showed me, all those years ago, that I had choices. This _is_ my choice. You will _always_ be my choice.” Dean finally turned back toward him, his expression a mix of hope and so much fear. “Our relationship will never be more or less than you want it to be,” Castiel repeated, making sure that Dean was watching him. “Because I will never ask more of you than you are willing to give. But Dean… I will gladly take whatever you are willing to give.” He paused and took an unnecessary deep and cleansing breath. “Because I _want_ whatever you are willing to give.”

Dean still said nothing. “Whatever you decide, Dean, it will be up to you. Because I will _never_ compel you. What happens now is and always will be your choice. But it is mine as well. Mine to give you whatever you are willing to accept.”

***  
Dean swallowed thickly. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, everything just a jumble in his head. All he knew at that moment was that Cas was touching him and Cas’s earnest expression was watching him closely. “Cas,” was all he could manage, coming out so deep and rough that it resonated through his whole body. He used his free hand to reach up and cup Cas’s face. Gently. Reverently. Dean licked his lips. He brought his hand down, over Cas’s throat, amazed at the complete lack of reaction, a testament to Cas’s trust, then to Cas’s shoulder, then down his arm and to their still entwined hands.

It was perhaps the most intimate touch he’d ever allowed between them. Always, before, afraid that it would be rejected. Always, before, afraid of admitting what he wanted, what he felt. He dropped his head forward, letting out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, letting gravity pull his hands down as well. Without realizing what was happening, he was pulled forward then wrapped in Cas’s arms.

For a few long moments they stood there, just like that, The hug was nothing more than they’d shared numerous times through the years, an innocent embrace. But it still rocked him with the feelings behind it. Finally acknowledged, if not spoken aloud.

When he finally, reluctantly, pulled away, Dean found himself shuddering out breaths, as if he’d run a mile, as if he was chasing his breath.

“Okay,” he managed, finally. “Okay. Good.”

***  
Castiel didn’t really know what had happened. What he’d said or done that had made Dean all but panic. He’d been contemplating where Dean was in his re-aging, how much longer until Dean was finally back where he should be, the Dean that Castiel knew most, knew best. Yes, he had been a little distracted, but not so much as to cause worry. Dean’s concern was unsettling. Ultimately understandable, though, and Castiel silently cursed his father, again, for allowing yet another trauma to fall onto Dean’s shoulders. Allowing Dean to be forced and coerced, taking away something Dean had always treasured, his free will. It was something that would take time for Castiel to forgive. If he ever could.

Holding Dean, comforting him and reassuring him, was a task that Castiel was more than happy to commit to. He would be eternally grateful for the right to do both. And possibly, maybe, hopefully, at some point… more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Living On a Prayer by Bon Jovi.
> 
> Sorry for taking so long, as usual.
> 
> 2016 was horrible. I hope not the beginning of an apocalypse without Dean, Sam, and Castiel to save us.
> 
> The elementary school my children went to was vandalized with messages of hate. The middle school a friend's daughter went to has had swastikas drawn on the walls, redrawn each time they're erased. Churches in our area have been vandalized with white power messages. This is a scary time. Please stay safe.
> 
> I now think there may be 2 or more new chapters. While the final chapter is all but finished, as I get closer I realize other things that need to be included. So expect a bit more.


End file.
